Get Knocked Down, Get Back Up
by unforth
Summary: With an over-sensitive sense of smell, omega Dean Winchester finds the scent of most potential mates to be, frankly, nauseating. Enter alpha Castiel, who smells fracken *perfect* but has problems of his own.
1. Chapter 1

Honestly, I don't even know what the heck this is, I just had this idea and I needed a few days off from working on "What Do I Stand For" and somehow this happened.

I've got a good chunk written and am splitting it arbitrarily into a few chapters. I'll get more up later today, and finish writing the first draft today or tomorrow; goal is to have the whole thing wrapped up by Sunday. I'm guessing it'll break into three or four chapters. Maybe 5.

Tubthumping reference in the title is intentional even though I have no idea why (I mean I know why I picked the title but no idea what Tubthumping has to do with this story - probably nothing). Seriously I can't even pretend that I know where this story came from, but I'm having fun writing it. :)

Oh, and there's nothing realistic about this story. Especially as regards the sex. I'm not even going to pretend. So don't expect this to be a paragon of good representation because the only reason it's not an absurd PWP sex-a-thon is that apparently I'm pathologically unable not to include plot.

* * *

 _Holy shit, this place fucking stinks_. _Literally and figuratively._

The dance club that Sam's friends had chosen for his bachelor party was loud and so packed with horny college students that it was nausea-inducing. There was nothing about this that was Dean's scene; give him a bar with a jumping dance floor and an AC/DC cover band and he'd be in heaven. _Haunter's Haven_ , with its thumping electronica and people jammed so closely together that the best they could manage was to bump and grind, made him feel claustrophobic. Dean had always had a sensitive nose – which Sam delighted in mocking him for – and if he didn't get some fresh air he was going to vomit on the shoes of the eleventh or twelfth douche bag of the evening who had decided to scent him without permission. At least this one was cute.

When polite "excuse me's" failed to clear a path through the throng, Dean restored to pushing and shoving to make his way from the bar to a booth along the far wall near the door. Jumping up on the seat, ignoring the protests of those already sitting there, Dean surveyed the heads of the crowd, illuminated in flashes by strobe lights and glow sticks. Fortunately, his sasquatch of a brother was easy to spot. Sam was surrounded by his friends, dancing with Jo like _they_ were getting married the next day, and though it made Dean uncomfortable to abandon his baby brother, he _had_ to get the fuck out of there. The amount of effort it would take to win through the crowd to let Sam know he was leaving would be ludicrous, and would definitely end with his fist smashing some hipsters nose, so instead he pushed towards the exit, tapping out a text.

 _Dean (11:14 PM): need fresh air. see you 2morrow._

Stepping outside was like escaping the damn undertow of the nearby Pacific. Behind him, the door slammed shut, dulling the sound of what could questionably be called music to a resounding thud, and wonderfully trapping the fetor within. The evening was cool, gratifyingly so after inside, and Dean leaned against the brick wall of the post-industrial warehouse, breathing deeply, letting the sweat slowly dry from his t-shirt. Down the alley, a young woman furtively spray-painted a tag on the side of the building, looking over her shoulder as if terrified of getting caught, as if she couldn't see the zillion other tags preceding hers.

 _Seriously, sweet cheeks, in this neighborhood no one gives a shit._

God, he reeked, his skin and clothing fucking coated in the scent of every damn alpha, beta and omega in the place. He was going to have to burn this fucking outfit. Fuck, he liked these jeans. What the fuck was he thinking, wearing one of his favorite shirts to a fucking club? The miasma clogging the air around him was nearly enough to make him gag. He was going to need a fricken hour in the shower before getting into bed or else his sheets would reek of this shit for the next month.

A group of teens, alphas young enough that their knots had just popped, came up to the door, stalking together with the ease of a pack long-used to each other's presence. They eyed Dean and his hackles rise at their expressions. He wasn't afraid – this wasn't the old days, a group of four or five alphas wouldn't threaten a lone omega even in a place like this – but their frank appraisal pissed him off.

"Go home, grandpa," said a round faced girl with at least a dozen piercings, her hair dyed raven black.

It brought an odd kind of relief to realize that they didn't give a shit that he was an omega, all they noticed was that he was close to fucking twice their age. Fricken babies.

"Fuck off."

They laughed and went in, the girl blowing him a kiss as the door closed behind her.

He was way too old for this shit. Fuck, at 26, Sammy was too old for this place, too. Illegal or not, the average age in _Haunter's Haven_ had to be about 18.

A pleasant whiff of something caught Dean's nose, the first thing he had smelled that wasn't disgusting since he'd gotten to the Warehouse District. Focusing on it, Dean tried to pick it out from amongst the various other aromas and grimaced. It had faded already, and as he inhaled deeply all he picked up was more gross crap – rotting garbage, the salty tang of dirty ocean and dead fish, shit and stale urine, old sex, the lingering aroma of some unfortunate vagrant weathering their heat on the streets. It was too much. Bolting, Dean barely made it around a corner and out of sight of the people coming and going from the club before he fell to his knees and threw up.

 _Perfect. Fuck this shit, I'm going home_.

Cleaner air drew Dean down the alley and out onto an abandoned stretch of water front. This had once been a bustling industrial neighborhood, but now the club was the only business, the rest of the buildings boarded up, inhabited by squatters, a slum that every politician swore to clean out but in practice everyone ignored. If this questionable haven went away, the homeless would find somewhere else to go. Here, they were contained, their location known, they could safely, quietly be forgotten. A lifetime ago after his father first died, Dean had lived here for nearly four years while Sam attended college and Dean hadn't the nerve to admit how badly he'd fucked his life. Every alley and bolt hole was familiar, the walk along the ocean formerly one of his favorites. There was no beach here, no private homes, only a built up esplanade and the remains of docks and equipment slowly rusting and molding as it crumbled into the ocean. Scattered street lights still contained functional light bulbs, spreading uneven pools of light at random intervals, reflecting gold off the crests of the choppy sea. In one particularly large illuminated patch, an omega sat with her pups on the remains of a dock head, smearing pungent peanut butter on stale bread, ignoring Dean.

Another whiff of that enticing smell had Dean jerking his head around, looking for the source. It was stronger this time, and though it ebbed as the wind died it didn't fade completely. The scent was thick with the burning tang of ozone, rich with the fresh, clean, perfect aroma of a world washed cleaned by a driving rain storm. It reminded Dean of the storms that struck the Kansas plains, drops enormous, falling so thickly that it was as if the very skies had opened up, the clouds so thick that bright noon was plunged into dark night only to burn brilliant bright when lightning forked from the sky, jolted into the ground, thunder booming across the endless expanses of waving grasses like an ocean of fields. Dean loved storms like that, the rare, merciful times when the rain washed him clean of every scent he accumulated every damn day, when he could go outside and smell nothing but the fresh water, the wet barley scent of soaked grain, and the sear left in the wake of the lightning bolts.

It smelled like _home_.

Following his nose, Dean moved blindly, turning, squeezing down a narrow alley, weaving his way through a tent camp. Other smells tried to distract and sicken him. People called out to him.

"Hey, cracker, you got a problem?"

"Dean! Long time no see!"

"Hey mister, got some food? How 'bout some money?"

"Pretty omega, need a place to stay?"

There were a few familiar faces scattered depressingly among the masses even though he'd been gone nearly 5 years. None of them were the source of the smell, it led him on, waning and waxing as he passed through darkened streets. Finally, he emerged before the burnt-out shell of what had once been Sandover's Shipping. Dean had lived down here when the fire had broken out; the fire department had taken 2 hours to reply and more than 30 people had died, many never identified because of the damage to their bodies and because they were vagrants, mostly minorities, and mostly omegas and no one gave a shit. That was like the fucking trifecta to get fucking screwed, and all too common among the homeless – around here, most were Hispanic, and the vast majority were omegas.

The man leaning against the raggedly shattered concrete wall of the destroyed shipping warehouse, a ragged blanket covering his head and completely enfolding his body, his gaze fixed on the night-black ocean, was most definitely _not_ an omega.

Alphas were rare in the Warehouse District, and every one that Dean had met suffered from some debilitating mental illness or other – usually schizophrenia, which for whatever reason alphas seemed especially prone to. There wasn't a whiff of such to the man's scent, only pure ozone and dowsing rain, and despite himself Dean froze and inhaled deeply, the smell going straight to his head, straight to his cock, straight to the glands in his channel that began to slowly leak slick.

The man snorted.

"Hey, sorry man," Dean said awkwardly. "You smell fuckin' _awesome_."

"Gee, thanks," he replied sarcastically, his voice low and roughened by hard times. "I can't give you what you want."

"Not even gonna see if you like what's being offered?" suggested Dean, feeling a little like he was losing his mind. He _never_ propositioned random alphas. Most smelled gross, over-strong, dowsed in cologne or scent marker and the lingering aromas of every fucking omega who had ever slicked on them. He never propositioned _anyone_. There was no one night stand on the _planet_ worth the smells that inevitably soaked into his mattress, his carpet, his walls, his fucking _skin_.

This man didn't smell like _any_ of that shit, not a trace of anyone but him except for lingering aromas on his blanket and clothing. It was almost like the dude was a virgin.

That was utterly fucking impossible.

"You smell like the bus." The man looked up for the first time, and, _fuck_ , not only did he smell like fucking _heaven_ , he was also gorgeous. The faint light picked out highlights and planes while leaving the hollows shadowed. He was worn, definitely – he could use a shave and a bath and a month of solid meals – but his hair, peeking out from beneath the blanket, was so dark it read as black in the darkness, his features were chiseled, high cheek bones, cleft chin, and his fucking _eyes_ were so blue they put the ocean to shame.

"Fair," grunted Dean. "Not scenting me at my best."

"Doesn't matter, you still smell amazing," the man sighed and turned back to the ocean, slumping dejectedly, tone defeated.

"Then what's the issue? Get a motel room – get you cleaned up, get me cleaned up – I'm not sayin' we bump uglies, but..." Dean took a deep breath. "Okay, fuck, I _never_ do shit like this, seriously – if you don't believe me, do you know Henriksen?" The large black man was something of a local defender; though he was employed, he yet lived in his tent on the streets and used the money he earned to help families into temporary housing and keep the elderly fed. He was a fucking saint. Dean gave him 300 bucks a month. The stranger nodded. "He knows me. Dean Winchester. I used to live down here. So, like, you can ask him – I'm not dangerous. Just, I ain't ever smelled _anyone_ like you, and if you're getting anything like what I'm getting, it's worth at least talking about it. Over dinner, maybe?"

There was a long pause.

"No."

"But—"

"What part of _I can't give you what you want_ didn't communicate clearly?" The most frustrating part was that, despite the anger implied by the words, the man's tone was flat and neutral.

"You don't have to 'give me' anything," Dean sighed. "It's just dinner. But fine, forget it. Stay out here if you prefer. Later!"

If this were a movie, or one of those trashy novels that stereotypically lonely omegas consumed by the box load, Dean would turn away, round the corner, and be nearly at the train station when the handsome man would catch up to him, huffing and puffing, explaining that he had nothing and couldn't bear to be a burden but if that was okay, they could give it a try. Six months later they'd have a bungalow, a picket fence, and bunch of pups in the oven.

This wasn't a rom-com, and Dean went home alone.

He forgot all about Sam's fucking bachelor party.


	2. Chapter 2

FYI - there's a bit partway through this chapter that I think could potentially be construed as relating to non-con. It doesn't. I can assure you there is no past or present non-con in this story. There is no non-con of any kind in this story, or even any dub-con. Just so you know.

* * *

Wake up. Take a shower. Get dressed. Go to work at Singer Salvage. Break for lunch. Prank the fuck out of his coworkers. Stay late working on the Impala. Go home. Take another shower. Call Sammy. Order Chinese. Watch Dr. Sexy.

Do not think about the alpha.

Totally think about the alpha.

Take another fucking shower. Masturbate.

Go to bed.

Rinse. Repeat.

So life went.

The wedding was awesome. Sam was an omega, his wife Madison was an alpha, and they were disgustingly cute together. Three different bridesmaids hit on Dean, and he ignored them all, even when they banded together to suggest a ménage-a-quatre

Growing up, Dean had this vision of how his life would be. Everyone assumed he'd show alpha – as opposed to Sam, who everyone figured would be beta or omega – except for Dean himself, he knew _exactly_ what his small cock presaged. His first heat had shocked pretty much fucking _everyone_ , but totally made Dean's day, because _finally_ he could try all the shit he'd been thinking about since he'd been 8 and accidentally stumbled on his dad's porn collection. Sex had become a primary object, and even at 14, getting some proved simple. The reality did _not_ match his expectations. It wasn't that sex wasn't awesome – it was, it so fricken was – but he discovered to his chagrin that it took two _months_ before he stopped smelling the beta on him. The first time he got knotted it was worse. Even now, ten fucking years later, he occasionally caught scent of Benny on himself. That wasn't the end of the world, he and Benny were friends and Benny smelled like fresh pecan pie, but still – they'd just been fucking around, and when Dean still reeked of bourbon and sugar six months later, he decided enough was enough.

He hadn't gotten laid since.

Of _course_ it sucked. It fucking blew epic fucking chunks. But the knowledge that if he messed around he'd continue to smells of everyone he was with kept his damn pants on every time. No one else could smell it on him, at least not after the first few days, but it didn't matter. He could smell it, on his skin, in his slick, around his cock, and while it wasn't gross now, it wouldn't take many partners before the combination of odors became repugnant.

So, he managed. He took heat suppressants. He went out, he got smashed, he danced til he could hardly stand, and then he went home alone.

Sammy mocked him for his nose until he put together what it had cost Dean.

Now Sam talked about his lovely fiancee-turned-wife, waxed eloquent on the success he was having at the archives, and gently, utterly unsubtly tried to hook Dean up with anyone who smelled even vaguely pleasant.

So life went.

A week and a half after the wedding, Dean's willpower cracked and he went back to the Warehouse District.

* * *

Without the scent of the club drowning him, it was much easier for him to scent the blue-eyed man. The faded track crisscrossed the area, stronger in some places, more recent or more frequently traveled, fainter others, but fucking _everywhere_. The dude must have lived there for a while. Dean wandered back and forth, pinpointing the most recent traces, passing through the camp where he found a tent that was thoroughly and wonderfully permeated in the scent of the storm. Stopping outside it, Dean resisted the urge to go in and surround himself in that wonderful smell.

"Yo, Dean!" Henriksen came up to him, slammed him hard on the shoulder, finally tore Dean's attention away from temptation. Despite himself, Dean flinched. Henriksen was stronger than he looked, but more than that, Dean had really been hoping to meet the stranger again when he _didn't_ smell like orgy, and with Henriksen's arm on him Dean was already picking up his scent – an earthy, oily aroma that Dean had never been able to pin down – and that of every other damn person that Henriksen had interacted with since his last shower. "You ever gonna stop givin' me money?"

"You ever gonna stop being the most self-sacrificing son of a bitch I ever met?"

"You ain't bad yourself, you know," Henriksen smiled at him. "It's appreciated, man. By the way, someone asked 'bout you a couple weeks back."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean was shocked to find hope nestled in his breast. It could be anyone, could mean anything, but he wanted it to be...

"How'd you meet Cas, anyway? He's way after your time, only been here...maybe six months?"

"Cas?"

"Blue eyes, dark hair, standoffish, you can't miss him," Henriksen held his hand up at about his own height.

"Right, him." The annoyingly optimistic feeling grew. "Yeah, I met him, he didn't tell me his name. Bullshit attitude, like you said. He seriously asked about me? I hope you told him what an asshole I am."

"Something like that. His full name is Castiel; if he's got a last name, he's never shared," Henriksen gave Dean a sidelong look. "Kinda struck me as your type, as far as I remembered you havin' a type...you always liked 'um tall..."

"As to that..." Dean trailed off, compounding his frustration with himself by fricken _blushing_. No. It was just a flush. He was a little over-dressed for the weather. "I...kinda came down here...lookin' for him...you know where I might find him?"

"Cas is easy," Henriksen nodded. Fuck it, it was _definitely_ a blush. "Always in the same place by Sandover's, starin' at the ocean. He's kinda weird, but there's no harm in him. Wish I knew his story, bet it's something."

"If I find out, I'll fill you in," Dean shrugged. "Thanks, man."

"Any time, Dean. Seriously – any time."

Sure enough, the blue-eyed man – Cas – was sitting in exactly the same place as the last time Dean had seen him. It hadn't occurred even occurred to Dean to check there, even though it was where they'd met. From everything Dean could see, the son of a bitch might not have moved in two weeks, except that Dean had scented him all over the damn neighborhood.

Dean stopped quietly at the corner of the building, out of Cas' sight unless he turned. Resisting the urge to inhale deeply, Dean instead kept himself calm, one regular breath at a time, catching a little more of that wonderful rain smell each time until he was drunk on it, until it suffused him so completely he could think of nothing else. Slick dampened between his legs. Fuck, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Even if Cas was interested, even if they messed around, when everything went to hell Dean would end up reeking of stormy weather for the rest of his fucking life.

A low growl broke through Dean's horny reverie. Cas was staring at him, glowering. Though his expression was angry and cold, the raspy sound leaking from him was pure fucking sex and did nothing to calm Dean's raging hard on.

"I _said,_ I _can't help you_ ," snarled Cas.

"Then why'd you ask Henriksen about me?" asked Dean smugly. He longed to close the distance between them, but he didn't trust himself that close to the gorgeous man, and that was, frankly, terrifying, so he held his place.

"Because I'm an idiot," Cas groaned and dragged his eyes back to the ocean.

"Tell me you don't smell this," demanded Dean.

"You want to know what I smell?" sighed Cas. "You're leaking all over your damn boxers. It's going to make this whole neighborhood smell like clear, crisp winter nights for the next month, and I'm going to have to find somewhere else to sit. Do you want me to flatter your ego? Sure, you smell good, Dean. You smell great. But it _doesn't matter_. I _can't_."

"What, you junkless or something?" Dean laughed.

"Or something," Cas said sarcastically, and Dean's stomach plummeted.

"Shit, dude, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." How the hell do you apologize to someone for their not having a dick? God, Dean felt like an asshole. An extremely disappointed asshole. His asshole was _extremely_ disappointed. Fuck, he had to get his head out of the gutter. "Um..."

"If telling you my most intimate secrets will get you to leave me alone, then fine, I'll do it – it'll be easier and quicker for both of us." Unlike last time, when Cas had sounded distant, this time he sounded defeated. "I'm impotent. Erectile dysfunction. Pretty much my whole life. Haven't had a rut in twenty years." Cas' sadness, obvious despite Cas' attempt to speak as if the experience he described had happened to someone else, drew Dean, helped quell his arousal. Dean crossed the space between them as if in a dream, slowly, one step at a time. "I've got all the pieces, they just don't work right. An omega like you...look, you deserve someone who can give you a knot. And I don't mean that in, like, misogynistically. Henriksen said you're a good guy, and you definitely seem like one, and I'd be lying if I didn't say you smell _perfect_ , but that's how I know it'll never work – because you do smell absolutely amazing, and I'm still just..." Cas sighed, slumping back against the wall, staring with fixed dejections at the ground between his legs, so focused he was clearly unaware of Dean standing before him, offering a hand up.

When Cas didn't notice him, Dean dropped to a squat. After a moment's internal debate, he reached forward, put a finger on Cas' chin and encouraged him to look up. Though Cas allowed himself to be moved, his gorgeous gaze remained fixed on the pavement.

"Come on, man, it's just dinner," Dean said.

"You can't fix me, Dean," Cas replied, finally looking up to stare at the ocean over Dean's shoulder. "I'm sick of trying. I'm sick of doctors. I'm sick of side effects on medicines that don't fix the problem. I'm sick of putting myself out there. I'm sick of being a side-show alpha. You're not the first shallow omega who has thought I just _hadn't found the right person yet_. We've got nothing to talk about."

"Wow, _I'm_ the one being shallow? Maybe I don't care about your dick," Dean said. It was only kind of a lie. If Cas were hard, Dean would have been riding him against the damn building five minutes ago. But he wasn't, and it wasn't as simple as that. "Look, I've got a problem too." Cas looked up at him startled, then looked pointedly at the fading bulge in Dean's pants. "Not that problem." Dean let go of Cas' chin and tapped his nose. "I can smell _everything_. Seriously, it's fucking disgusting. You said I smelled like a bus last time? You have _no idea_. That was my favorite shirt and I had to throw it away because I'd be smelling all that garbage on it forever, no matter how many times I washed it. When I'm with someone, it's the same – once and it's like I'm fricken marked, and I seriously just _can't_. So, I've been alone. Sure, sex is great, I'd love some sex, but honestly? Really, utterly, totally honestly? Like, the most honest I will ever fucking be? I'm lonely, dude, and I'm fucking tired of it. You seem like a cool guy, and if I smell like you...that actually sounds kind of awesome. You smell so _clean_. I'm not looking for a lay. I'm looking for a friend." Wearing his most winning smile, Dean waited for some kind of reaction, and he got _nothing_. Cas might have been chiseled from fricken rock. Frantically, Dean fished around for something more, anything else he could say to make the point that he didn't know why but he knew he wanted, no, _needed_ Castiel in his life, but though his thoughts screamed the truth loudly, Dean couldn't bring himself to admit any more. This was already the biggest confession he'd made since he'd told Sam he'd rather be with a male alpha than a female. He needed Cas to say _yes_ , but no more words would come.

"Will ya just go out for a meal with me?" he croaked at last. "If we don't get along, fine, we part ways, no harm, no foul, you never have to see me again."

The silence stretched out, and Dean rose, his legs aching from kneeling, and began to make his slow way back around the building, more disappointed than he'd ever have expected.

"May I take a shower first?"

Stunned, Dean turned around. There was the fucking chick flick moment. Cas was standing unsteadily, looking like a stiff wind would blow him down. The blanket had fallen away from his shoulder, showing his crazy, long, tangled hair, his unshaven cheeks, his wide-shouldered frame grown gaunt from hunger and ill-use.

"Yeah," stammered Dean. "Yeah, sure, and I bet my clothes would fit you, you can borrow an outfit. I can get a room, like I offered last time...or we could go back to my place, if you didn't mind..."

"Let's go to your place," said Cas, breaking into a shy smile.

Dean was utterly screwed.

* * *

Castiel was perfect.

Dinner went awesome. Talking with Cas was easy. There were no stakes, and the guy was sweet, funny, smart, casual. Their conversation started with a back-and-forth about where to get dinner – they both loved diner food – and easily segued into comparing quirky diners they'd been to, favorite meals, a chance comment shifted the talk to books, Dean's ring tone turned them into music, and it turned out they had a _lot_ in common, and every topic led to "if you liked this, have you read that? No? Come _on_!" Dean promised to read Palahniuk, Cas asked with hilarious seriousness if Dean would show him Dr. Sexy, and somehow, after cheeseburgers and pie, they ended up on Dean's couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn, Dean practically buzzing with energy as he tried to keep from spilling spoilers while showing Cas the first few episodes of his favorite show. During the credits after each episode, Cas asked the cutest damn questions with his head quirked to one side, and listened attentively to Dean's enthusiastic explanations of the alpha-beta-omega dynamics that made the show so damn interesting.

Heck, he liked Cas so much he forgave the guy when he fell asleep during Dean's favorite episode of the first season.

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, and Cas was brewing coffee and attempting to cook eggs when Dean emerged from his bedroom. They were rubbery and a little burned, but Dean couldn't have done much better, and it was nice – it was _easy_. They went out to Goodwill to get Cas clothes that actually fit him, and then they went for a walk along the boardwalk along a much nicer section of the ocean, and then somehow it was evening again, they were getting dinner again, they were starting Dean's favorite episode over, it was 2 AM and Dean had work the next day and Cas was asleep on the couch and it was all good.

Without ever talking about it, that became the new normal. Cleaned up and fed, Cas shed the dejection that had characterized him almost as easily as he shaved his scraggly excuse for a beard. He got a job as a checkout clerk at a supermarket, convinced them to match his hours pretty closely to Dean's, and with that foundation, Dean found himself attached at the hip to someone he wasn't even screwing. He'd always resented the possibility of giving up his independence, but with Cas it didn't feel like he'd given up anything. It felt like he'd found his shadow when he hadn't even realized it was missing. Every one of Dean's friends assumed they were banging like bunnies – except Sam, who knew his brother's scent well enough to smell the truth – but it wasn't like that at all.

They were friends.

Dean whacked off daily in the shower moaning Cas' name.

Alright, it _wasn't_ perfect, but it was so much better than anything else Dean had ever had. Coming home to Cas was great, and the way Cas' face lit up whenever he spotted Dean in a crowd or scented him approaching was glorious. They _fit_ , and the idea of not having Cas in his life slowly became inconceivable.

* * *

They'd been living together, Dean in the only bedroom, Cas on the couch, for a little over a month when football season started. Dean held a kick-off party, a bunch of their friends came over: Sammy and Madison and Bobby and Charlie and Benny and Ash and some chick named April that Cas had gotten to know. Cas was pretty quiet, minding his own business, occasionally asking cute questions like "what's a down?" or "how many runs is a touchdown worth?" Afterwards, once their friends were gone, they cleaned up, Sam tried and failed to initiate a heart-to-heart about something or other, and finally, blissfully they had the house to themselves. It was important to Dean to be social and hold events, but he hated having large groups over, it always left the place stinking for days afterwards. As usual, he set up the fan in the window and did what he could to get the air moving, got the couch cushion covers in the wash and prayed that the morass of mixed scents wouldn't last too long.

"Did you have fun, Cas?" Dean asked. His friend looked _exhausted_. More worrisome, there was a tightness in his expression that Dean hadn't seen since those first few days they'd been together.

"Yeah," Cas nodded slowly. His scent spiked, suffusing the room, driving out every other smell as if it were a cleansing rainstorm in truth. Dean swallowed hard, and before he knew what was happening, Cas was pressed against him, his nose snuffling at the short hairs behind Dean's ear, the lips Dean had dreamed of proving to be every bit as chaffed yet soft as Dean had imagined as they brushed against his neck. Dean's heart went nuts, pounding out of his damn chest. Cas lay a hand over it and gently pressed forward, forcing Dean back step by step until the backs of his knees hit the couch cushions and he crumpled into a seated position. All Dean could do was stare at Cas with his jaw agape, wondering what the hell was going on – not that he _minded_. They froze in tableau, Cas' eyes boring into his, dark blue in the dim lamp light, expression inexplicable because Dean couldn't bring himself to dare hope it was lustful.

Before Dean could process what he saw, what he smelled, what he felt, Cas was in Dean's lap, straddling him, his nose buried against Dean's neck, lips mouthing at the scent glands concentrated along the curve, nudging aside Dean's collar to suck lightly on his clavicle. Cas took a loud, deep breath, then sighed contentedly, the sound shivering down Dean's spine. It took every ounce of willpower for Dean not to wrap his arms around Cas, pull him close, kiss him and caress him and scent him and see what other enticing noises he could draw from the man.

"Cas. Dude. What the fuck?" There was a hysteric edge to Dean's voice. _Sure_ , Dean was _totally_ cool with not banging the hottest, best smelling, nicest fucking alpha he'd ever met. It wasn't easy, but it was night and day to life before, and he was managing. But if Cas was going to start pulling shit like this? _Fuck_ did Cas smell amazing, his scent burgeoning to fill the room, mixing disgustingly with the lingering smells of everyone who had been in the apartment that day. The combination was unbearable and Dean's self-restraint cracked, he nuzzled behind Cas' ear, inhaling deeply the calming aroma of the storm, blissfully cleansing his senses after an entire day surrounded by his friends.

"Cas..."

"Too many people," mumbled Cas, lips brushing Dean's neck as he spoke. He paused to inhale deeply again and Dean could not let himself believe for an _instant_ that the noise that followed was a moan or he'd fricken lose it. "The apartment doesn't smell like you anymore. You don't smell like me anymore. I don't like it."

"It doesn't smell like _you_ ," whispered Dean. Cas licked at the dip at the base of Dean's neck and Dean couldn't hold back a whimper. "That's why we did all the cleaning, why the fans are running. It's hard, but the alternative is to never have company."

"It's okay," Cas was practically panting, taking desperate draws of Dean's scent. "You're still here, it's okay. We'll get it smelling _right_ again in no time. I look forward to coming home all day, you know. Nowhere else smells like this. It's you, Dean, it's all you."

"That's not true." Lost in the moment, forgetting all the reasons he shouldn't, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas, drew him closer, adored the feeling of their bodies pressed together. It wasn't erotic; it was comfortable. It was home. "It's both of us. I look forward to it all day, too. I hope you'll stay, Cas. It'll smell like you forever. I couldn't bear it if you left, I'd have to move."

"I'm not going to leave, Dean," the beautiful man ran a hand soothingly through Dean's hair, and Dean could swear they fucking melted together, the room suffused with the wonderful scent of a winter storm, the crisp clarity of Dean's crystalline frozen night mixing with the ozone and rain of Cas' thunderstorm to make a nor'easter. "My home is wherever you are. If that's alright with you, I mean...if that's what you want..."

"It's great, Cas. It's perfect."

That night, Cas slept in Dean's bed, curled up close to the edge as far from Dean as he could get, except for his hand reaching across the intervening space, finding Dean's fingers, intertwining them together. He didn't let go all night.

They woke up curled together, Cas' face pressed to Dean's neck, Dean's morning wood twitching against Cas' thigh.

Cas never slept on the couch again.

* * *

Cas whimpering in his sleep woke Dean a couple months after they started sharing the bed. Reaching over, Dean shook his friend – his boyfriend? His platonic life partner? He had no fucking clue – but Cas didn't react beyond moaning pathetically. It wasn't a sexual sound; it was pure misery.

"Hey, Cas."

"No," mumbled Cas. "No, please." His voice grew stronger. "Please don't, _please_."

"Come on," Dean took his hands away nervously, not wanting to freak Cas out further. "Cas, buddy, you gotta wake up."

"No...no, no, _no_..." Cas thrashed and cried out. Alarmed, Dean got up, afraid that Cas would hurt himself, and straddled Cas, pinning his arms and legs. Cas was only a little smaller than he was and nearly as strong, but Dean had leverage and was actually fricken _awake_ , which helped. "Stop, please, stop..."

"Not gonna hurt you, Cas," Dean said loudly, hoping to break through. "Not gonna let you hurt yourself. Wake _up_!"

Cas woke up with a start and a gasp, straining against Dean until he had to grip so hard that Dean feared he was going to leave bruises, eyes wide and terrified. "No, Dean, please, don't go, don't go, I'm sorry I'm broken, I know I am, I _know_ it. Everyone leaves, and I get it, I understand, why should anyone stay, there's no reason to stay, but please, _please_ , I can't lose you too, I need you – I need you, Dean!"

Dean felt fucking sick. Letting go of Cas' arms, unpinning his legs, he gathered Cas up in his arms and held him tight as Cas drooped limply, babbling his fears, tears streaking from wide eyes that showed Cas still trapped in his nightmare.

"I know you want more and I'd do anything to give it to you but I _can't_ no matter how much I _want_ to, please, you have to believe me! If I could, I would, I truly would, but Dean...Dean...!"

"I'm not going anywhere, Cas! I'm not leaving," Dean said gruffly, trying to get through to him, but Cas continued on oblivious.

"I'll do anything, I'll try to fix it, oh _God_ , I thought you were different, I thought you weren't like them, I thought—"

"Castiel!" Dean shouted. Cas froze in his arms, trembling in fear. "Look at me, Cas." Slowly, terrifyingly slowly, Cas' eyes came into focus on Dean's face. Cas looked petrified, flinching at the anger on Dean's face, and Dean forced himself to relax. He wasn't mad at Cas. He was mad at every son of a bitch who made Cas feel like he was worthless because he was an alpha whose cock didn't work right. Who fucking _cared_? Cas was fucking _amazing_. Over the months, Cas had spoken little about his past, only enough for Dean to figure out that pretty much everyone in his life had walked out on him and abandoned him, even his family, even his friends. They'd all given up on him until he'd finally given up on himself. "You're not broken, Cas."

"Dean—"

"No, Cas. You gotta listen to me. I don't think you're broken. I don't think there's a single damn thing wrong with you. I think you're fucking _awesome_. I think you're _perfect_ , okay?" The words poured out of Dean, he panted with the effort, his own fears cascading out of control. If Cas got scared enough, would he leave to protect himself, leave before risking Dean hurting him? "Stay with me, buddy, please stay with me."

 _Don't go, Cas, God, just like you said, I'll do anything, anything at all, to be what you need._

Dean was also trembling now, they were both shaking, breathing hard, Cas' arms wrapped around him. Cas scented at Dean's neck, and then lips found Dean's chin, kissed a line along Dean's jaw, met Dean's lips. The kiss was chaste, promising nothing, but even so, it was absolutely heaven and Dean returned it gently, undemandingly, lips moving against Cas'. They were soft, smooth, and felt even better against Dean's mouth than they'd felt against his neck. Sensation poured through him, coursed through his veins, hardened him no matter how he wished otherwise. The last thing he wanted was for Cas to feel Dean's erection and draw away or grow afraid again. If Cas noticed, he didn't react, instead he deepened the kiss, pressing more insistently against Dean's mouth. It was nothing like Dean had expected – he'd expected nothing, despite the encounter after the opening day party, despite sharing a bed, Dean hadn't dared dream Cas would ever kiss him – but it was perfect, so kind, so warm, unskilled but fervent.

Unknowable time passed in tender kisses, lips meeting lips, no tongue, no need, no urgency, the warm glow suffusing Dean leaving him dizzy and horny but not unsatisfied. It was the most bizarrely sexual, utterly non-sexual thing Dean had ever experienced.

Finally, Cas broke away and lay his head on Dean's shoulder, using his nose to push aside the loose t-shirt Dean slept in, smiling blissfully, scenting Dean's skin. Cas' eyes slipped shut, his breathing grew steady, and Dean couldn't but smile. Gently, he tried to disentangle them, to lay Cas down so he could sleep comfortable. To his surprise, Cas refused to budge, instead tensing his arms against Dean's back, holding Dean close.

"I love you," Cas whispered in his ear.

Dean couldn't answer, it was impossible, but he didn't need to. He tucked his head alongside Cas', enveloped his every sense in a summer storm, and sighed contentedly against the other man.

The next morning in the shower he came so hard he collapsed to his knees.

It was weirdly perfect, weirdly disfunctional, and Dean wouldn't change it for the world.

So life went.

* * *

Author's End-Note: This wasn't where I wanted to stop this chapter but I have to go. This story breaks fairly conveniently into halves, and my goal is to get the first half posted today - but while editing I ended up deciding to expand what had been a paragraph synopsis into an entire scene (a smutty, smutty scene) so it's going to take longer than I have right now. :)


	3. Chapter 3

In six months, Dean had never seen Cas naked.

Cas had grown very familiar with Dean's body. Despite all of Dean's efforts not to mortify Cas with reminders of the things that Cas couldn't do, restricting his masturbation to the shower, striving to only pleasure himself when Cas wasn't home. However, they increasingly slept snuggled together, and there was absolutely nothing Dean could do to prevent his body from reacting unconsciously to Cas' proximity, heat, unbelievable fucking sexiness, and glorious smell. Originally, morning wood had been a source of embarrassment, and as soon as Dean awoke and became aware of the problem he'd roll away to deal with the problem himself as quickly as possible.

Thus he continued until he woke up one morning with Cas' fingers around Dean's cock, Cas nuzzling his neck and murmuring enticingly in his ear.

"It's okay, Dean, it's okay, I understand, I want to take care of you, please let me do this for you, I'll make you feel so good, if that's okay, if you'll let me..."

Trying to make him stop was inconceivable. Dean could as soon have ripped his leg off than made himself pull away. Cas' strokes were tentative and inept, but they still felt like heaven, and when Cas reached around, slipped a hand into Dean's boxers, swirled his fingers through Dean's leaking slick, tentatively pressed two fingers into Dean's ass, Dean had come pathetically fast, moaning Cas' name and thrusting desperately back against his hand.

That hadn't been the hottest part, though.

No, that was the way Cas pulled away, lifted his hand up, his fingers so coated in sticky slick that it made gooey threads, and stared for a long moment, his eyes lidded, his expression unreadable. Moving the hand to before his face, Cas sniffed deeply, and then without a fricken _moments_ hesitation, he thrust the two fingers into his mouth and sucked the slick from them, moaning at the taste, his eyes darkening with lust.

Fuck that it was impossible, Dean would have fucking _sworn_ he came again just watching.

Of course, Cas didn't get hard, he couldn't, but he didn't seem to mind.

And he got _much_ better with practice.

Indeed, Cas started to take a strange delight in stripping Dean down and driving him absolutely nuts, using his hands, his mouth, or one of Dean's numerous toys to make Dean a hot, wet, moaning mess. None of it ever brought Cas even close to getting off, of course, but just like everything else in their relationship (or whatever the fuck it was), what could have been monumentally, horribly awkward instead just _worked_.

They were the best fucking orgasms of Dean's life, and he went through the rest of the day smelling like Cas, Cas _on_ him, Cas _in_ him, Cas on his lips and on his neck and soaked into his flesh as well as his skin, and he loved it. He absolutely _adored_ it. Everything else in his day was easier, every other smell was infinitely easier to cope with, when he was soaked in his alpha.

 _His alpha_.

Yeah, Dean might be a little gone on the guy, which Dean suspected most people would think crazy, but Dean couldn't bring himself to care.

In all that time, Cas never stripped, never asked anything in return, refused when Dean offered, and Dean _never_ saw him naked.

Until the first time he did.

Cas was hung like a fucking _horse_.

Seriously, the dude was fucking _enormous_.

He'd walked into the bedroom obliviously, not realizing Cas was home. They worked different hours on Thursdays, and Dean was so used to getting home hours before Cas that he'd totally forgotten that the supermarket was closed that evening for inventory. So there Dean stood in the bedroom doorway staring with unmasked hunger at a very naked, utterly gorgeous man who stared back at Dean like a deer in headlights.

"Oh, fuck , I'm sorry," Dean squawked, mortified to have intruded without knocking, mortified at the instant fucking _plethora_ of fantasies that had him hard fricken _instantly._ He ducked out of the room, sliding down the wall of the hallway, hand on his forehead, felling like a total ass.

No wonder Cas couldn't fucking get it up. His cock must be nine or ten inches _limp_ ; hard it would be a foot easy, and as wide around as some people's entire fists, and dear _God_ that should not be an enormous turn on but it was, it totally was. It was all Dean could do not to moan.

Benny was not a small man, and Dean remembered _precisely_ how wonderful it felt as his muscles had eased, stretched, his cheeks forced apart by the thickness embedded in him, how deeply each stroke had filled him, how fucking _amazing_ every instant of it had been. Dean hadn't experienced that except with plastic and silicon in a fucking _decade_. Cas was as big limp as Benny had been hard. A frantic voice in Dean's head begged wordlessly to have that cock inside him _right that fucking moment, please, holy_ shit _please_! A whimper leaked free, and he dug his nails into his forehead hard in an effort to use pain to distract himself from the desire pulsing urgently through his body.

"Dean?" Cas asked nervously. A moment later, he stuck his head into the hallway. He'd pulled on a pair of boxers – fucking _magic_ boxers, how the fuck could a simple garment hide that gargantuan _thing_? – and was tugging a shirt over his head and over his beautiful, lean chest and stomach as he glanced around for Dean, taking a moment to spot him on the floor. "Um. Are we okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, we're great," Dean babbled. No, he was not babbling, he was only talking very fast and completely out of control. Right. "I'm fine, and you're huge, I mean, seriously, how have you been hiding...fuck, I'm sorry, it doesn't matter, it's all cool, it's all totally cool." With effort, he forced himself to his feet, though his erection forced him to adjust himself. Cas blushed so brightly it was visible even in the dim hall light, and Dean felt increasingly like a monumental douche bag. Size didn't fucking matter. Dean was pretty small – he was an omega, after all – and that didn't make him any less of a beast in a sack. Cas was a fricken elephant, and it didn't change that he couldn't get it up and didn't seem to have much interest in sex. And yet...

...and yet there was something in his eyes now, blue made dark by the dimness, that made Dean wonder. There was something on his face when he licked up Dean's slick that made him think Cas _felt_ those things, he simply didn't express them. There was something in the way he occasionally echoed Dean's moans and whimpers that made Dean think that Cas _wanted_ , he simply didn't think he had any means of gratifying those desires.

 _It doesn't matter. If he doesn't say anything, it's none of my damn business._

"Just forgot that you were going to be home, I'll go make dinner."

Dean fled to the kitchen.

As he fiddled in the fridge for something suitable to throw together, Cas came up behind him. "It's 3 in the afternoon."

"Right, what I'm making is going to take awhile."

"Look at me." There was a pleading note in Cas' voice. Feeling like a boy caught with his hand down his pants by his fricken grandmother _– oh God Winchester can we stop thinking about sex,_ please _? Especially sex involving_ anyone's _grandmother?_ – Dean turned around, shoulder's hunched, eyes everywhere but on Cas. "Do we need to talk about this? Is this going to be a problem?"

"No!" said Dean emphatically, touched and hurt by the fear in Cas' voice. "No. I've told you before – I'll tell you as many times as I must – you are not a problem, you being _you_ is never a problem. Just the way you are – however that is – is not a problem."

The words did little to calm the nervousness tightening Cas' expression. Dean's arousal gave way to fear, his usual terror that if Cas felt in danger of losing what they had, he might flee rather than risk himself further.

They stood staring at each other for long minutes, and slowly the tension went out of Cas' face.

"Are we okay?" Dean asked weakly, echoing Cas' earlier question.

Not breaking eye contact, Cas nodded and closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders. "Sometimes I think this will never work, and it scares me. The thought of losing you scares me so much I can hardly stand it. But then we have moments like this, when I can see every one of my fears played out on your face, and I realize how unfounded my anxieties truly are. It's not always easy for me to remember you're not like the others, that you're kind and caring and you've never _once_ asked _anything_ of me, you've simply let me give what I could, what I felt comfortable with – that you've accepted whatever that is without complaint, without once asking me for more. I know there are things you want. I...I want them too. It's okay to want them, that doesn't make you bad, doesn't mean that what we have isn't okay. It's how you deal with that desire that shows me who you are, Dean."

"I love you, Cas," Dean mumbled awkwardly, the first time he'd ever said the words, though he'd known them to be true for some time. Cas gasped, the air swamped with pheromones, the smell of the storm so all-encompassing that Dean could almost feel the patter of the rain drops washing over his body, washing away every other smell in the world. "I do. So much. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I do," Cas gave him a weak, lop-sided smile that set his eyes sparkling beautifully.

Dean met the smile, and then a wicked thought struck him and his lips twisted into a grin that caused Cas to blink at him uncertainly.

"Come on, I've got an idea."

Despite his relative inexperience with other people, Dean had watched a truly epic quantity of pornography in his life. Porn had always been the perfect escape: hot, entertaining, guaranteed to get off without leaving a single undesirable smell anywhere. Thanks to that, he had a _lot_ of source material from which to draw sexual inspiration. Thinking of the desire he'd seen in Cas' eyes, it occurred to Dean that if Cas was horny, it was not an unsolvable problem. Just because Cas couldn't get hard didn't mean he couldn't get off. Dean wondered if Cas had ever realized that. Leading Cas into the bedroom, Dean closed the door and gestured for Cas to sit on the bed.

"Okay, Cas," Dean said, running through approaches and finally settling on the direct method. "Have you ever done an anal play?"

Cas blinked at him blankly, sitting primly upright on the edge of the mattress. "We've done a fair amount of anal play, Dean."

"I meant on you – have you or a partner ever, ya know, experimented?" Dean clarified.

Looking away, Cas colored. "I've never had a partner."

"Bull, you've got a partner now," said Dean heatedly. "I think I could make you feel really good, if you're willing."

"What's the point?" asked Cas, resigned.

"The point is that I think I might be able to get you off," Dean said. Cas' eyes narrowed, brow furrowing. "Not like that," added Dean hastily. "I don't think I can do anything about...that...but you don't need to be hard to come."

"Huh?" The storm clouds on Cas' face cleared in an instant, replaced by that blank, confused look once more.

"I got two words for ya: prostate massage."

"I don't know," said Cas, leery. "That sounds...strange."

"You've done it to me," Dean pointed out.

"Yeah, but you're..." Cas trailed off, looking away, biting his lip nervously.

"...an omega?"

"No!" Cas snapped, catching the annoyance in Dean's tone. "I mean, of course you are, but that's not what I meant. You...feel things. And you have experience with this kind of...thing. I don't know what I'm doing." Despite his denials, Cas' cheeks were tinged pink, and as Dean squatted before him and forced their eyes to meet, he thought he saw the traces of desire in his eyes.

"Cas, it's up to you," Dean said, matching earnest words to an open expression. "I know I can make you feel good. I don't know about any of the rest, but I _know_ I can do that, and I know that I want to." Tentatively, Dean reached out, cupped Cas' face in his hands, drew him down into a tender kiss. In the first moment, Cas didn't reciprocate at all and Dean felt a cold fear that he'd screwed things up, that he never should have opened his mouth.

 _Wasn't Cas_ just _saying that he thinks we work because I never pressure him, never ask for what he can't give? And here I am not ten damn minutes later pushing him towards anal. Dammit, why am I such a fricken idiot? What if..._

A tongue probing at Dean's lips interrupted the dark thoughts, Cas demanding entry to his mouth with an aggression he'd never shown before. Dean opened his mouth and reveled in the feel of Cas' tongue lapping at his lips, licking along his teeth, the taste of stormy weather mingling with Dean's saliva, the slick rubbing of their tongues as they danced together, pulled apart. Dean started to lean away, but Cas grabbed the back of his head and held him in place, refusing to end the kiss, exploring every corner of his mouth, licking up every trace of Dean he could.

"Yes," Cas was panting when they finally drew apart, his cheeks flushed dark, his gaze dark with lust. "Yes, I want to try. I want...I want _you_ , however I can have you, every way I can have you."

Smiling, Dean bumped their foreheads together, met Cas' lovely eyes from inches away. "Now?" Cas replied with a vigorous nod that bumped their noses together repeatedly, and Dean laughed. "Okay, okay, I gotcha. I'm gonna take care of you this time, okay, Cas?"

"Yeah, that's okay, Dean," he said. Drawing away, he looked around, hands wringing nervously. "What should I do?"

"Just lie back," Dean said. "I'll do the rest."

Rising, Dean went to the night stand on his side of the bed and retrieved the bottle of lube from the drawer. There had been times when his own slick wasn't enough. Not a problem he'd had since Cas had moved in, and the bottle was dusty from six months of neglect. Squirting a little experimentally in to his palm, Dean rubbed it around, gave it a sniff. It seemed fine. Coating two fingers generously, he turned back to the bed. Cas lay on his side watching Dean.

"Ready?" Squeezing his eyes shut, Cas nodded vigorously. Dean frowned worriedly and lay down beside him, chest to chest. "Hey, look at me." Cas' lids fluttered up and down before he opened them again and met Dean's gaze. Dean gave a tentative smile. "Nothin' you don't want to do, okay?"

Cas leaned in and kissed him. "I know. You have no idea how much I want this, Dean. I'm just nervous. I don't...I don't want to get my hopes up. There have been so many times with you I've thought maybe...but it never...I never..." Tears flooded gorgeous blue, and Dean's heart ached. Without another word, he leaned forward and caught Cas' lips with his. Snaking one hand between Cas' body and the bed, he reached around awkwardly and pulled Cas' boxers away from his ass. Cas shuddered and pressed their bodies closely together, wrapping his arms loosely around Dean's waist.

"I got you," Dean murmured. He ran his lubricated finger over the top of Cas' crack, trailed it gently towards his hole, feeling every twitch, ever tremble, as Cas reacted. "Say the word and I'll stop instantly." He pressed lightly against Cas' opening, barely fighting the resistance of Cas' muscles. Cas breathed out explosively and, promisingly, pressed his hips back towards the contact. "That feel okay?"

"Yeah..."

Dean pushed through, just to the first knuckle, and Cas shivered violently and whimpered. Slowly, carefully, Dean worked in and out, rubbing along the rim, reading every small sign Cas gave of how he felt. And _fuck_ , there were signs, so many, and it was unbelievably hot. Cas' breath picked up, quick hot puffs on Dean's cheek; his hands flattened and tensed against Dean's back, pulling him closer, palming at his muscles. Experimentally, Dean pulled out, let the moment stretch out until Cas started whimpering, started wiggling back towards his hand, started mumbling, "Dean, please...that felt good, please, I want more..." Satisfied, Dean breached Cas again and then worked his way in to the crook of his pointer. Cas gasped, his back arching, and moaned as Dean rubbed all along his entry way, tracing out the contours of the tight ring of muscles. Each desperate noise that leaked from Cas showed how profoundly moved he was, and Dean couldn't but react, slick pooling inside him, staining his boxers, his hard cock pressed against Cas' flaccid one.

Every movement Dean took was slow and deliberate. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Cas, so he carefully used one finger to stretch him and slick inside him, delicately explored deeper along Cas' channel looking for the raised nub of his prostate, but his pointed proved not to be long enough.

"Please, Dean, more – that feels good, but I need _more_ ," Cas begged, his hips canting back as he tried to force Dean to thrust in and out.

Encouraged, Dean pressed in his middle finger, spreading Cas wider. Cas' groan was so loud that it vibrated through Dean's body, low and rough and coarse like gravel, and Cas' scent flooded his senses, until he thought he could taste it, hear it, feel it, as surely as he could smell it. Gentle thrusts in and out had Cas rutting against him, and the friction drove Dean nuts. With all his willpower, he pushed his own desire away. This was for Cas, only for Cas.

Cas, apparently, had other ideas, his hands roaming down Dean's back, one working into Dean's pants, fingering at his wetness.

"Feels good...you smell so...love your scent, Dean, love your body, so hot right now, I'm so..."

"Yeah, you are," Dean mouthed the words against Cas' throat, kissing at his pulse. "You're fucking _gorgeous_ , Cas. I've wanted to make you feel good for _so fucking long_ but I couldn't figure out _how_. So glad I can do this for you...so glad..." Dean emphasized the words by driving his fingers into the knuckle, earning a guttural groan, and then he systematically began his search again, feeling, feeling, until...

"Dean!" Cas' entire body jerked and stiffened as Dean finally found the right spot and rubbed the pad of his finger over it gently. "Oh God, oh _God_..."

That was all the urging Dean needed. Thrusting in and out slightly, he accompanied each thrust with a brush over that spot, varying the pressure, changing the angle, sometimes barely grazing Cas, other times pressing so hard Cas sobbed in pleasure. At first, Cas continued his vocal exclamations, but as Dean's attentions intensified, Cas became increasingly incoherent, the hand pinned against the bed pressed desperately against Dean's back, the other working at Dean's ass with awkward desperation, Cas doing his best to mimic Dean's movements. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and lost himself in how good it felt, Cas crying out needily in his arms, Cas' fingers rubbing into him, Dean's hips rutting involuntarily against Cas' body.

"Cas," he groaned. "Gotta stop touching me, or else I—"

"No," snarled Cas. " _No_. Don't stop, Dean, _fuck_ , don't stop!"

Well, there was no fucking way to argue with _that_.

Harder and harder Dean thrust, harder and harder he massaged the most sensitive place in Cas' body. Cas grew more and more tense, clenched more and more tensely around Deans' hand, moved more and more raggedly and unevenly in his attempts to pleasure Dean in return. His groans grew deeper, inconceivably sexy and tinged with need. The smell of a dowsing rain storm was all encompassing; with his eyes closed Dean could feel the deluge against his skin, feel the electric crackle of the lightning echoed by the jolts of pleasure coursing through his body. He was close, they were both close, _fuck_ , maybe Dean really _could_ make Cas come this way, he'd scarce dared believe it even though he'd offered.

"Dean," whimpered Cas, his muscles so tight that his hold on Dean was painful, his voice pinched and tense. "I don't...I can't..."

"Yeah, you can," Dean whispered encouragingly. "It's okay, just let it go, just let it happen. I've got you."

"But...but..."

"Feels good, right?"

"Yes," gasped Cas. "It feels amazing, it feels perfect, it feels _impossible_ – I can't – I haven't – it's been...it's been twenty years...Dean, I..."

"Trust me," Dean blindly sought Cas' lips, traced along his jaw, licked his stubble, found Cas' mouth and gave him a gentle kiss. "Relax."

"Okay, okay, I—" Dean pressed hard at Cas' prostate and Cas broke off with a loud cry. "I—" Dean didn't bother to thrust in and out, he rubbed and kneaded, brushed and caressed, spread Cas wide and massaged until his fingers cramped and Cas strained against his hand, beyond any vocalization other than choked off groans and begging whimpers. Cas gave up on reciprocating, clinging to Dean's body as if afraid of what would happen if he let go. With sudden inspiration, Dean opened his eyes and leaned close, pressed his lips to Cas' neck and sucked hard at the same moment he gave a long, tender stroke over the sensitive flesh inside Cas' body.

"Dean," howled Cas, body convulsing, breaking contact between them, the clench of his ass so strong it forced Dean's fingers out. Sightless blue eyes opened wide, broken cries of pleasure filled the air, and the scent Dean loved so much grew impossibly more intense. The smell went straight to Dean's libido, compounded by the delicious noises that Cas was making. Despite that, his worry for Cas was greater. His reaction was really fricken _not_ normal; now Cas was curling in on himself, knees coming towards his chest, arms folded around his belly. Alarmed, Dean sat up, leaned over Cas, got a hand on each of his shoulders.

"Cas, are you—"

Teary blue eyes stared at him, a joyful smile wide on Cas' lips, and then he started to laugh as freely and unrestrainedly as Dean had ever heard. Arms reached out for Dean, enfolded him, held him crushingly close, and Cas dug his nose into the crook of Dean's neck and laughed as if he'd never done so before in his life.

"Holy shit. Was that...was that okay? Tell me you're okay!"

Cas didn't tell him it was okay, he just shook with his delight, and the sound was irresistible. Dean joined in, kissing Cas' neck, rubbing his hands along Cas' sides, sharing bliss until they finally collapsed, giggling, side by side on the bed.

They lay that way for several moments and then Cas was leaning over him, every bit of his normal intensity back, blue eyes steady as he met and held Dean's gaze. Strong fingers rubbed down Dean's chest, spared a caress for his nipple, palmed his belly, undid his zipper, and wrapped gloriously around Dean's aching cock.

It took two minutes flat for Dean to come so hard it felt like a fricken train ran him over.

"Do you think it was okay, Dean?"

* * *

Dean woke up alone and aching. He felt feverish, light headed, his joints aching. A year together had seen he and Cas settled into comfortable rhythms, but recently a new manager had taken over at the supermarket. The guy, Zachariah, was a douche bag and had shifted Cas' schedule around despite Cas' objections. They had way less time together, and Dean had spent two weeks parlaying favors with his coworkers trying to get their hours aligned again. It was a work in progress. Until they sorted it out, though, they were stuck with only one day off together, Cas working mornings, Dean working afternoons and evenings. It was driving Dean nuts. He slept poorly, ate less, had trouble concentrating. Monday's were great, for twenty-four blissful hours they could pretend that no one else existed. But today was Tuesday, and Tuesday's were the fucking _worst_ , knowing it'd be another week before Monday.

Dean _really_ felt like shit. Fucking _fantastic_.

At work he was in fricken outer space. He banged his head on a car hood so hard that Bobby gave him an hour break and nearly dragged him to the hospital, he burned his hand when he touched the radiator of a car that he _knew_ had a busted coolant system, and he even jacked up a simple oil change. Two hours before he was done for the evening, Bobby pulled him.

"You don't need to prove nothin' about your commitment to this job, not anymore," Bobby grumbled. "Why the _hell'd_ you come when you're in heat?"

"What?" Dean asked blankly.

"Your _heat_ , idjit," Bobby rolled his eyes. His boss was a beta, and though he put on as tough a front of any alpha, underneath his tough-as-nails exterior he was an enormous teddy bear, the only mechanic in the greater metropolitan area willing to take a chance on a guy in his mid-twenties with a prison record, no work history that could be admitted to, and no permanent address. Dean loved him for it. Now, though, it was like he was talking fricken Greek.

"I'm on suppressants," said Dean, feeling like an idiot.

"You're in heat, mi amigo," called Ash from the main floor where he was rotating a semis worth of tires.

"It's just a cold, the flu or something."

Bobby's sympathetic look was bizarre, incongruous with his bluff features. "When Roman came in to get his car earlier I had to beat him away from you with a tire iron. Why the hell do you think I locked you in my office for an hour? It wasn't cause you bumped your poor little head. Heck, there were a few minutes before she left I thought _Charlie_ was going to jump you, and you know which way _she_ swings. You smell sweeter'n a fifty dollar whore right now."

"Wow, well...fuck," Dean fumbled with the rag he carried to wipe the oil from his hands. He hadn't had a heat in a decade but now that he thought about it...yeah, the symptoms did match. "How do I compare to more expensive prostitutes, boss? You sound like a man in the know."

"Just get out of here, idjit," Bobby said, giving Dean a shove towards the parking lot. "You've got the week off. Longer if you need it. I'd offer you full pay, but you know how things are – I can send you half."

"Thanks, Bobby," muttered Dean, embarrassed and grateful.

"Let that pretty boy of yours take care of ya," Bobby grinned. "But try not to get a belly full o' pups, will ya? I need you around here, and I can't have a pregnant omega hanging around the heavy machinery."

"You don't need to worry about that," Dean managed to make the comment sound flippant. "There's no chance."

Dean remembered vividly how desperate he got for a knot when he was in heat. All of his early heats and been terrible, his needs nearly unfulfillable, his body unwilling to accept any substitutes even as he fucked himself stupid on anything even vaguely phallic he could get his hands on. His sensitivity to the smell of his partners was only part of why he was on suppressants; the bigger factor was that going into heat it was fucking _annoying_ – brutally so, truth be told. It was going to be a long, lonely week. Pulling out his cell phone, Dean settled into the front seat of the Impala and considered texting Cas to warn him.

 _Yeah, hey buddy, maybe you should skip town, otherwise I am going to spend the next seven days humping your leg and begging you to knot me. And, you know, all things considered, that might be awkward._

Sighing resignedly, Dean put the phone away. If he wasn't such a fricken loser, he'd do exactly that, but as mortifying as it was to acknowledge, Dean couldn't face this alone. Only Sammy being there had gotten through Dean's heats as a teenager, and his last one – which also had been the result of failed meds – had literally nearly killed him when he tried to go it alone, the resulting medical bills the final straw that drove him to the streets. He needed help to get through this, and, even more embarrassing, he _needed_ that help to come from Cas. The idea of asking anyone else to stay with him, even Sam, or God forbid finding anyone else to knot him, was enough to make him feel physically ill.

 _Fuck my life._

* * *

Author's Note:

So, the first "half" of this story got 4k words longer in the editing.

Which means this story is going to *easily* break 20k.

I don't know why I even bother estimating my story length any more. I'm *always* wrong.

More'll be posted tomorrow. :)


	4. Chapter 4

A wafting, warm early June breeze incongruously carried the smell of the depths of winter to Castiel's nose. Smiling, he dog-eared his page in the book he was reading and set it aside. He took a deep breath and let the images Dean's scent evoked wash over him. A crisp winters night, a thick coat of snow on the ground that muffled every other smell, the sting of frigid air on his skin and deep in his lungs as he inhaled, the feeling that the whole world might shatter at any moment, tinged with fainter smells of the white-bedecked pine trees, the promised heat and spice of mulled cider, everything that Castiel loved about the depths of January in Washington when, as a child, he'd steal out of the house to sit on the porch clutching a hot mug in mittened hands and staring up at the dazzling clear night sky pierced by stars. When Castiel had first met Dean, the smell had put him off even as it had attracted him, evoking every "ice queen" stereotype even as Cas had longed to toss every inhibition to the wind and jump off that remembered porch and into the deep snow beyond. Succumbing to that wild desire to rush in without worrying about the consequences had given Castiel the chance to get to know Dean, and better acquaintance had made it clear that Dean was anything but frigid – warm, caring, devoted, self-sacrificing, loyal, occasionally brusque, sometimes unwilling to share how he really felt, but never _cold_. Like the snow bank, apparently frozen but warm and welcoming and insulating beneath the surface, able to hold in enough heat to save a life, Dean had enfolded Castiel, surrounded him, protected him.

Dean had saved him.

Usually, Castiel caught scent of Dean about a minute before keys scraped at the lock and Dean came in – the first whiff coming as soon as the elevator doors opened down the hall. The minute passed, and then another. Worried, Castiel got up, opened the door and stuck his head into the hallway, but there was no one there. It was only 7:30, far too early for Dean to be home from work, but scent didn't lie – for Castiel to smell him that strongly, Dean must be near. Heading over to the open window, he stuck his head out, peering at the sidewalk below, made dim by the lingering sunset, but though many people milled about, sight and smell agreed that none were Dean. The scent was stronger out there, though. Combing his memory, Castiel tried to remember if he'd ever been able to smell Dean strongly enough to catch it from the fifth floor. That was the kind of thing Dean had demonstrated more than once that he could do easily, but Castiel had nothing like Dean's sense of smell.

He was halfway out the window, craning his neck to try to see further down the street, when the door opened behind him.

"Hey, Cas," Dean sounded exhausted. "Not plannin' to jump, I hope?"

"No," Castiel said, drawing back into the room. "I was just—" He stopped dead. Dean _looked_ normal, which was to say, Dean looked gorgeous, loose jeans, flannel shirt over a black band tee, hair a bit disheveled, hands stained with smears of oil, another streaking across his cheek. His, smell, though...

...he smelled like fucking _heaven_.

"Everything okay?" said Dean dejectedly. He threw the duffle bag in which he kept his work clothes negligently by the door and Castiel watched with all the impassivity he could muster even though it was all he could do to not cross the room and bury himself in Dean's scent glands, rut their bodies together just to feel the drag of hot flesh against hot flesh.

"You're in heat," Castiel managed.

"Thanks for statin' the obvious, Sherlock," Dean snapped, slumping into the couch and tugging his boots off.

"How…?"

"99% effective," Dean said with a wry grin and a self-mocking thumbs up. "Looks like I'm the 1%."

Crossing to the couch, Castiel sat beside Dean, took his hand, met his eyes. "What do you need me to do?" Dean colored adorably under the intensity of Castiel's scrutiny, a blush bringing out the sprinkling of freckles over the arch of his nose. Dean jerked his hand free as if the touch hurt him and Castiel backed away uncertainly. "I mean…um...do you even want me here? I could go – get Sam or—"

"No!" Dean threw his arms around Castiel, drawing him close. "You said you wouldn't leave, you said…" Dean shuddered and he forcibly pushed Castiel away, leaving Castiel utterly confused by his behavior. "I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable, like, if _I_ make you uncomfortable, I understand. It'd be better if you left. I'll be better in a few days. And then you'll come back." The last was almost a question. It was amazing to Castiel that Dean was so insecure.

Castiel knew the source of his own insecurities: his family had been so damn proud when he'd shown a knot at puberty and utterly disappointed when doctor after doctor declared his mysterious impotence incurable. When, during grad school, four years after Castiel's last rut and last erection, he'd finally attempted to explain that he didn't mind that much and he was finding the constant attempts to fix him draining and was thinking of stopping, they'd been furious – they'd threatened to cut him financially, called him broken, named him pathetic. His sister Naomi had spitefully outed him as gay, resulting in a second heap of condemnation being dumped on him. For another year after that, he'd tried, he'd truly tried, he'd tried experimental hormone treatment, he'd done acupuncture, he went on a liquid diet, he'd gone to a quack who thought electrical shocks might cure him, he'd tried _everything_ , whatever he could find on the internet, whatever crazy crap the least stable members of his family's congregation could think up. His grades suffered, his health declined, he lost weight, until he felt so sick most days he could hardly eat, so depressed and anxious and useless he could hardly get out of bed. That had been the limit. He called his parents and told them he'd tried everything. They suggested a strict bread and water diet, and he'd said no. Well, he'd said something considerably less nice than no, involving many more swear words and a fair few tears. They'd graciously accepted defeat, disowning him and cutting off all financial support. He'd been upset at first, but as his health began to recover and his depression faded, he found that even working two jobs to make ends meet while he finished his degree was easier than the constant barrage of undesired attention to his non-functional dick.

That hadn't been what ended up hurting him the most.

Castiel knew _exactly_ why he struggled as he did. What he didn't understand was why Dean felt that way. There was nothing wrong with Dean. He'd never figured out why Dean felt inadequate or why he'd been homeless or why he constantly sold himself short.

 _Or why he keeps around a busted alpha, no matter how good we smell to each other._

"You know I won't be able to knot you, right?" Castiel asked hesitantly.

"Well, fuck, _now_ you tell me," snarled Dean. "That changes everything, never-fucking-mind." Flinching, Castiel met Dean's angry gaze as steadily as he could until Dean crumpled back against the couch, sighing, face slack with tiredness. "I know it's unfair to ask," he said softly. "I'm gonna be out of my mind this week, guaranteed, and even though I know better, and you know – you know, right? – that I don't hold it against you…you gotta know how badly I want you, Cas, you gotta know I'm gonna be half-delirious and begging for your cock by this time tomorrow. And I hate to do that to you. It's not fair."

Settling his hands in Dean's brown hair, combing back through it, Castiel leaned forward and brushed a chaste kiss over Dean's forehead. "I can't knot you, but if you want me to stay, I'll stay, and I'll do my best to help you however I can." He hesitated, then added gently the words he didn't say nearly often enough. "I love you, Dean."

Dean grabbed him and held him a strong embrace. "Thanks, Cas," he muttered, shoulders shaking as if he were crying. "I'm going to bed. You can sleep out here if you want."

"I'll be in soon," Castiel promised.

Soon proved to be nearly two hours later. Hastily tugging his boots on, Castiel ran, literally, to the supermarket where he worked and did some hasty shopping, filling a cart with things that were quick to make, high in nutritional value, easy on the digestive system. Some omegas got nauseous during their heats, some had no appetite at all, others ate everything in sight, and Castiel had no idea what to expect. With the groceries bagged and ready to go, Castiel took a few minutes to explain his situation to his boss, who grudgingly conceded that Castiel could take the days off provided he found coverage for his shifts. Quick conversations with the people working then took care of three of the shifts; for the others, he grabbed the list of everyone's phone numbers so he could call around when he got home.

Based on things Dean had said, Castiel suspected that Dean had no idea what to expect from a heat, either. The sexual consequences of Dean's acute sense of smell were something he rarely talked about, but as far as Castiel had been able to piece together, Dean hadn't had a heat since he was a teenager, hadn't had sex with anyone save Castiel in all that time – if what they did together could even be called sex – and was, for entirely different reasons, every bit as lonely and hard-up as Castiel had felt when they'd met.

 _He hasn't had a heat in almost as long as it's been since I last had a rut_. Almost 20 years since his last rut, his last erection. Sometimes he could hardly believe it had been so long. A year ago, before he met Dean, he'd felt every one of those days like a millstone about his neck, so heavy he could hardly drag himself forward. He'd stared at the ocean and wondered if the weight crushing him down would mean he'd sink when he finally found the courage to throw himself to the waves. Now, he was so glad, so unspeakably glad, he'd managed to get through all those awful days after Michael broke his heart.

 _I won't be able to help Dean, I'm too broken_.

Pushing the thought aside, Castiel made call after call until he had people to cover all his hours for the week, bustling around the kitchen preparing simple meals that, hopefully, would appeal to Dean and help him keep his strength up. Castiel needed to eat, too, but he was less worried about himself. He could go without if needed, but with the amount of energy that a heat consumed, with the wear it would have on Dean's body, it would be downright dangerous if Dean couldn't stay hydrated and fed. Quick meals were best, though, and the more Castiel could prepare ahead of time, the better. Sure, plenty of omegas dealt with their heats alone, weathered the bursts of horny neediness, took care of themselves, rested as needed, but Castiel was deeply concerned about Dean. Conventional wisdom stated that the first heat after long suppression was usually intense and severe as the body reacted to hormones that it had long grown unaccustomed to. Conventional wisdom also stated that heats that resulted from suppressant failure were especially bad, because an unusually strong cocktail of bodily reactions were needed to break through the hormonal control that the medications used to prevent heats from occurring every two to three months. Castiel had no idea if conventional wisdom was true, but he wasn't about to take any chances, not when that meant risking Dean. He needed Dean. He couldn't lose someone, not again, couldn't face starting over from scratch for the third time.

 _Selfish reasons, those, all about what_ you _need and what_ you _want. What about what's best for Dean? Doesn't he deserve someone who can pleasure him as he desires? Doesn't that sweet, slick channel cry out for a nice, hard knot? Have you ever dared ask if he wants a mate, if he wants a family? He's wasted on you, Castiel. He deserves better._

When Castiel finally got into the bedroom, Dean was slumped face down atop the blankets wearing nothing but his boxers, illuminated in shadows by the light of a lamp. Slick made a dark mark over his ass, his hands were bunched in the comforter, and his back rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep. Castiel took a moment to change into pajama bottoms and decided on consideration not to put on a shirt as well. There was little enough he could to help Dean, but when Dean was especially hot he loved the brush of skin on skin, loved the feel of Castiel's firm chest supporting him, and even though Castiel felt disgusting, sick with his own inadequacies, gross in a way that left the idea of touch repellent, he wouldn't deny Dean anything that might help him. Climbing carefully into bed, Castiel tried not to disturb Dean, but either Dean was awake the whole time, or Castiel had woken him by accident, for the moment he lay down, Dean rolled over and caught him in a fierce embrace, cocooning Castiel in arms and legs.

"Warm," mumbled Dean. Unsure what Dean meant, Castiel hesitantly wrapped an arm around him and Dean shimmied closer, scenting Castiel's neck deeply, rutting his hard cock against Cas' thigh. The powerful aroma of Dean's slick left Castiel tingling with desire, longing to stick his fingers in Dean and drink up every drop. "I'm too warm."

"Do you need me too—?"

"No!" Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel even more tightly and ground against him with stuttering groans. "This...this is perfect, just, don't move, fuck, I'm already so close, I'm so hot, Cas, so hot, I want…" Whatever it was went unsaid as Dean moaned and came, spasming against Castiel's side, semen instantly soaking through his boxers to leave a wet splotch on Castiel's flannel pants. Relaxing his embrace, Dean slumped to the side, eyes unfocused, breathing hard.

"I'll be right back," Castiel said with a light brush of lips over Dean's. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean nodded. If, less than 24 hours after his heat began, Dean was already at the point that he could get off in moments doing nothing more than rubbing himself against Castiel, this was going to be even worse than Castiel had feared. Thinking quickly, Castiel headed to the kitchen and filled a bucket with water, tossed in all of their washcloths and hand towels and set it by the bed. The water would get cold, but he'd be able to clean Dean up whenever needed. He grabbed their bath towels next and set them in a fluffy pile next to the bucket, something warm and dry to use afterwards, something to set under Dean so he didn't soak the mattress with slick. Changes of clothing came next, every pair of boxers he and Dean owned set within reach.

Tugging Dean's dampened boxers off, Castiel used a wash cloth to sponge off the spunk already drying into his pubic hair, dried him off with a clean towel, and tried not to stare, mesmerized, at the way Dean's cock twitched and thickened again under the chaste care. Dean shivered at the chill, shivered at every touch, cringed when Castiel pulled a new pair of boxers up his legs. All the while, Castiel did his damnedest to ignore how much he wanted to bury his face in Dean's ass. The slick released when Dean came was always the most delicious: the strange crisp sense of cold beneath the heat of the liquid, a hint of peppermint and citrus and pine, the light melting sense of a snowflake striking the tongue and dissolving. It was impossible to put into words how a perfect, clear winter night _tasted_ , but that was Dean, and it was exquisite.

 _God, if I were hard, I'd be inside him right now, I'd knot him so hard he'd cry, I hope he knows how much I want to, I hope he knows how much I wish I could_.

Arousal buzzed through Castiel, conflicting with his earlier abjection, leaving him feeling strange, skin buzzing, head aching. He forcibly repressed his thoughts again. Knowing what Castiel _wanted_ to do to help was of no use to Dean. All that mattered was what Castiel could _actually_ do. Tempting Dean with a knot he could never have only left Castiel feeling helpless and guilty. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, returning to the kitchen, gathering up every pitcher they owned – three in all – and filling them with fresh water. He carried the three haphazardly to the bedroom in one trip, setting them on the chest of drawers. Back to the kitchen for cups and a box of cereal, and back to the room. He filled a cup with water and pressed it on Dean, giving him a stern look, and with obvious difficulty Dean made himself sit up and take a sip, grimacing.

Squatting beside the bed, Castiel reached beneath the frame, rooting around until he found the box in which Dean kept his toys. As a couple, they'd rarely resorted to using anything in there, and when they did, Dean always pulled out what he wanted rather than allowing Castiel to choose something to use on Dean's body. For the first time, Castiel took a moment to inventory the collection so he knew what his options were, for he hadn't the least doubt that he was going to need _something_ to put inside Dean, more than just Castiel's fingers and tongue.

A large vibrating dildo with an inflatable knot, inexplicably purple, was the most expensive in the box – Dean had told Castiel that he bought it with his very first paycheck, as Sam had made him swear to reward himself in some way for getting off the streets. The fancy toy was the most relevant to Dean's current needs; the heat would pass much more quickly and easily if Dean's body could be fooled into thinking he'd been knotted.

 _Or if he could be_ actually _knotted. But I can't knot you, I can't, oh Dean, I'm so sorry. Why would you waste yourself on_ me _?_

Setting to dildo on the nightstand, Castiel combed through the rest. A double-pronged toy that could stimulate Dean's prostate while also rubbing his perineum was one of Dean's favorites, and he pulled that out too. There was stubby, thick butt plug if Dean's not-infrequent craving for something large became an issue, and a small vibrator on a long tether designed to stimulate the near-inaccessible, incredibly sensitive nerves along a male omega's cervix and uterus. The rest was a motley assortment of cheap plastic and silicon dildos, a few strings of anal beads, two sets of handcuffs – one that Castiel thought might actually be police issue – a flogger that Castiel couldn't ever imagine Dean using, a knobbed plastic penis ring, a neon pink gelatin cock sleeve, and a few things Castiel couldn't identify. Accidentally pressing the button on one of the mystery items, he discovered it was the remote for the purple vibrator, and he pressed it again hastily to make the vibrator stop making an awkward rattling noise against the wood of the table. A second remote proved linked to the cervical stimulator, and he grabbed that as well.

A whimper drew Castiel's attention to Dean. At some point, he'd rolled to face Castiel, and he was staring at the dildo like a starving man stared at a feast he was being denied. "Please," he whispered, reaching towards the toy with fumbling fingers. "I need to be filled, _please_!"

Wordlessly, Castiel handed him the toy, and in the time it took him to grab a towel for Dean to lie on, Dean had rolled on to stomach, shoulders flush to the bed, and settled on to his knees with his ass presented perfectly. Unable to do anything but stare, Castiel watched as Dean buried the toy himself to the hilt in one smooth, well-slicked stroke, moaning with relief.

 _God, he looks beautiful like that_. A tingle of heat and desire fired through Castiel's veins and echoed Dean's moan. Panting, Dean shifted to rest his head on one arm, the other reaching around to awkwardly thrust the dildo in and out. His tanned skin was flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat, his thick slick coated the toy amply and dripped down his crack towards his dangling balls. His cock, small and curved and deep red with arousal, was completely hard again, tip brushing pre-release over the concave curve his lower belly. Brown hair appeared darker in the lamp light, sticking up in all directions. Dean stared Castiel in the eyes, pupils dilated, green strangely bright, expression pleading for all the things Castiel couldn't do for him. Catching his pink lips with his teeth, Dean didn't bother to start slowly, pounding into himself so hard that each stroke made a wet squelch punctuated by the broad plastic base slapping skin.

"Do you want me to help?" Castiel asked uncertainly. His skin felt over sensitized, his lips ached for a kiss, he longed for tenderness and touch and a brush against his prostate, even lips on his limp tip – any of the many ways that Dean had discovered to make Castiel feel good. However, this was about Dean, about giving Dean everything he needed for as long as he needed it, and Castiel already felt terrible that he couldn't give Dean the one thing he needed most, the one thing that _should_ have been Castiel's responsibility to give.

 _Not necessarily. We're not mates. We just live together, and spend all our time together, and give each other fantastic orgasms, but we don't_ actually _have sex, and I can_ never _be what he really needs. That's why we're not mates, the only reason we're not mates, otherwise I'd have asked him months ago, but I can't, I can't saddle him with me. Why does he even keep me around?_

After a long delay, as if it had taken Dean a ludicrously long time to parse what Castiel had asked him, Dean nodded frantically. Instantly, Castiel pressed the button on the remote and Dean groaned hugely as the toy began to vibrate, buzzing loudly. Castiel settled on the bed, and before he could do anything else Dean rolled to his side and wrapped himself around Castiel once more, chests pressed close, nipples brushing erotically, the vibrator buried deep within him as he embraced Castiel, slipped hands under his shirt and gripped the firm muscles of Castiel's back. Dean's cock slotted against the softness at Castiel's crotch and Dean's nose rubbed at the scent that must be thick along Castiel's neck, moaning and writing and twitching at even the slightest brush against his over-sensitized body. The hand with the remote was pinned between their bodies, but Castiel reached around with the other hand, took a hold of the base of the toy and imitated what he'd seen Dean doing for himself, hard, brisk, in and out, in and out. Dean rutted back into every stroke, rutted forward to brush his cock against Castiel's flesh and groaned endlessly, managing to say semi-articulately, "Cas…just like…harder…oh, please…more, need more…need you, _need_ you..."

With an awkward flick of a finger over the remote, Castiel turned the vibrator up higher and Dean came, moaning hot and humid against Castiel's skin, scent so strong that Castiel moaned with desire, felt the liquid heat pooling in his gut, for all the good that arousal did him. A few feeble streaks of white landed on the towel Castiel had laid out. Assuming Dean satisfied, Castiel started to withdraw the toy only to have Dean gasp, shake his head violently against Castiel's face, and glom on to Castiel's body even more tightly, hips straining back desperately after the cock slowly leaving his body.

"Don't stop, God, don't you _dare_ stop, I need a knot, _please_ , knot me, knot me, Cas, _knot me_ ," begged Dean, practically sobbing against Castiel's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," stammered Castiel, driving the toy in deeply, earning a shuddering, satisfied groan in reply. "I'm sorry, I will." _God, I'm useless. I would, Dean, if I only could, I would, over and over again, as much as you wanted. I've never wanted anything more than to be what you need me to be_.

Unsure what Dean wanted, Castiel let Dean's body language dictate his actions, matching his strokes to the driving pace that Dean set with his pivoting hips. Spluttering and moaning, Dean pressed his teary eyes to Castiel's shoulders and took it all. Fumbling with the remote, Castiel turned the vibration to maximum and found the sliding adjuster that caused the knot to inflate. Dean gasped again as the swell began to catch at his rim, clinging to Castiel's chest even as his lower half chased what he needed. Beyond words, Dean moaned needily, gumming at Castiel's neck. Castiel kissed behind his ear, along his chin, tenderness an odd contrast to how hard he pounded Dean's ass with the vibrator, whispering, "such a good omega, Dean, you're so beautiful like this, you know I want you, right? I want you _so much_ , I'm going to give you what you need, going to give you everything you deserve." The first part was true, anyway, and Castiel was so high on scent and arousal that though he was soft, he found himself rutting gently against Dean's crotch each time Dean pulled close to him, the vigorous penetration stimulating Dean's cock to hardness yet again.

The knot caught, a special setting in the toy causing it to vibrate as if it were filling Dean with come, and Dean went rigid against Castiel's body, groaning " _Castiel_ " as if speaking had become nearly impossible. He hips bucked through his third orgasm in less than an hour, coming dry, and his groan sounded as much pained as pleasured. Collapsing limply, breathing hard, Castiel could feel the tears on Dean's face, the sweat on his forehead and chest, the tremble of his exhausted muscles as they lay close together. He deflated the knot and pulled the toy out, earning a spasm and whimper from Dean, and used the towel on the bed to wipe the slick from the vibrator and from between Dean's legs. It was difficult to get Dean to move enough to tug the towel free, but finally it came away and Castiel tossed it negligently aside. When he tried to sit up and grab a new one, though, Dean refused to let him go even though his rapidly blinking, dulled eyes showed that he was fading towards sleep. Knowing how important the rest would be before the next surge of heat came on, Castiel decided to let it be, instead setting the vibrator and its remote on the night stand and fumblingly turning the light off, plunging the room into darkness.

"Thanks, Cas," mumbled Dean.

"Anytime," Castiel replied tenderly, stroking Dean's hair long after he passed out from exhaustion.


	5. Chapter 5

'Anytime' proved to be the understatement of the century.

Based on the bedside clock, a mere two hours passed before Castiel was awoken by Dean rutting his ass against Castiel's crotch, rubbing slick all over Castiel's pajamas bottoms. His first, bemused thought was that clothing was probably a lost cause until Dean's heat passed. A moment later, the marvel of that _smell_ clogged out every other thought, scent even more powerful than the day before, suffusing the air of the room so thickly that Castiel could taste it when he breathed in through his mouth.

It took four fingers, his middle pressed against Dean's prostate, to fill Dean enough for him to come again, nothing but incoherent sounds of urgent need leaking from Dean the entire time. Castiel barely grabbed Dean's already-soiled boxers and got them beneath Dean in time to catch the meager release. As Dean breathed hard, slumped against the mattress trying to recover, Castiel desperately licked the thick, gummy slick off his hand, reveling in the intoxicating flavor. Hardly aware of what he was doing, but knowing he _needed_ as he rarely had before, he wrapped his arms around Dean, who didn't resist at all as Castiel moved him as he wished. Holding his love close, Castiel choked back quiet moans as he rubbed their bodies together. His cock gave a feeble twitch, made a valiant attempt to thicken that Dean felt, drawing a groan from Dean that set Castiel's blood afire. Weakly, Dean matched his movements, stuttering and gasping, and Castiel closed his eyes as he sucked at Dean's ear, kissed at the ridge of bone just behind, sucked at his neck.

"Dean," he groaned. Dean echoed him, rutted back harder, and _God_ did Castiel wish that it provoked more from him, Dean's desperation was palpable. "You taste like _heaven_ , I want to…I want…"

 _I want to lick you clean from coccyx to balls, I want to ride you til you come, I want to fill you with my knot you until you sob my name, I want to make you_ mine _, leave my mark on your skin so everyone who looks at you, everyone who scents you, will know who you belong to._

 _Mine_.

 _But I_ can't.

The thought sobered him, arousal faded until he was as limp as ever. The heat in his blood dulled until all that remained was the echo of his heartbeat in his ears. The loss of pleasure left him so hollow he wanted to cry, and he stopped moving against Dean. There was no way Dean noticed, he was already lost again, pressing back against Castiel's crotch urgently, soaking him with slick and whimpering.

 _This has to be about him. It can't be about me. Taking care of Dean is all that matters_.

It took another hour of helping Dean ride the vibrator, stroking him off, holding him close, coaxing and comforting and praising him, before Dean was able to climax again, his body clenching so hard around the knot that Castiel was momentary worried the toy would break.

They barely managed two more hours before Dean's heat surged for a third time, his next orgasm even harder to wring out of his increasingly fatigued body. The sun rose as Castiel desperately tried to help Dean, Castiel's mood growing darker and darker as it became clear that whatever pleasure Dean might have gotten from this experience was already past. The fake knot couldn't convince Dean's raging hormones that they were getting what they needed. Castiel pounded the dildo into Dean hard, harder still, turning the vibrator to maximum as Dean begged, but it wasn't enough. It was heart breaking to watch the beautiful omega he wanted so much suffer and cry, unsated. It wasn't until Castiel got the cervical stimulator in place, knotted Dean _again,_ both while he had his lips wrapped around Dean's cock, that Dean finally, finally came with a pitiful sob.

Trembling and crying, Dean lay on his stomach on the bed, thighs smeared with the slick that soaked the towel beneath him, body dripping sweat. Unable to bear leaving him in such straights, Castiel rose, got a cup of water and held it to Dean's mouth until he drank all of it, even though Dean barely seemed strong enough to swallow. That done, Dean melted against the bed, asleep instantly, as Castiel cleaned everything up, used a wash cloth to scrub every inch of Dean's skin, lay new towels down for Dean to lie upon, gently shifted Dean's body to a section of the bedding that wasn't damp with sweat. Dean slept through all of it.

Castiel couldn't sleep, despite his own fatigue. Instead he stripped off his sodden pajamas and sat naked on the bed, Dean's head cradled in his lap, threading his fingers through Dean's matted hair, murmuring a lullaby his mother used to sing when he wasn't feeling well. He didn't think heats were usually this intense, but he knew so little about this kind of thing he couldn't be sure. As a child, he'd been exposed to the heats his family had suffered, because his family's strict interpretation of Christianity forbade the use of suppressants by Castiel's mother and sisters, but the biological imperative that drove alphas to embed their seed in omegas experiencing heat shut off around family. Once he'd left home, it was even more rare. Most omegas secluded themselves during their heats, and recently passed laws guaranteed the availability of free heat suppressants to all omegas. Henriksen had made sure that every omega who lived in the Warehouse District had what they needed to keep them safe and healthy until their lives were stable again. His whole life he could count the number of strange omegas whose heats he'd scented, and he had nothing to compare Dean's experience to.

It wouldn't have made any difference if Castiel had been surrounded by slick 24-7 through his 20s and early 30s. No one he had ever met smelled like Dean, and even if they had, Castiel had a year's worth of affection and friendship and love that made his inability to help agony. Lingering memories of long-past high school health classes suggested that most omegas heats cycled every four hours or more. Dean was cycling in less than two. This was the kind of heat that could kill.

 _If I can't help him, I have to find someone who can_.

The thought lingered in his memory even as his awareness faded. He awoke to the sound of a driving downpour, the sense that his head was packed with wood, his nose stuffed, his eyes scratchy, his body too hot. Warm wet was wrapped around the thick, limp head of his cock. An arm was wrapped around Castiel's hips, toying at his nearly inaccessible entrance.

 _Anything he needs, anything, I'll do it, anything I can_.

Dean always loved pleasuring him, loved the rare occasions he was able to get Castiel off using skilled fingers and talented lips. Coming without an erection, without popping a knot, was weird and vaguely uncomfortable, a shadow of the orgasms Castiel could barely remember from the few times as a teenager when he'd been able to come, but it was better than nothing. Better, it invariably got Dean close, especially if he could lap up every drop of pre-release and come that leaked from Castiel. Shifting forward, Castiel let Dean's head slip to the mattress, rose to his knees to give Dean access to his hole. Instantly, a finger breached him. Castiel expected it to be dry, rough, but he hadn't reckoned on Dean's unrelenting heat, and Dean slid inside Castiel easily. Heat burgeoned in him, pushing away his shame and regret, as Castiel realized Dean was using his own slick to lubricate the way.

"Taste you..." Castiel murmured vaguely. His thoughts were sluggish, words slow to come as his body warmed to the idea of making love. "May I taste you, Dean?" Dean gave a needy hum that vibrated through Castiel's body, racing Castiel's quickening heartbeat. Crawling down Dean's body, Castiel got them lined up so that Dean could suck at him, rolling Dean's body so that Castiel could access his hole. With his face so close the scent was overwhelming, and for a heady moment Castiel nearly collapsed as vertigo made his head spin. He pressed his cheek to Dean's thigh and breathed in deeply, abrading his stubble against tender flesh, drawing more choked off noises that quivered through Castiel's increasingly sensitive cock. Only when Dean began to hitch his hips suggestively did Castiel give in to the desire he'd nursed since the night before and pressed his mouth to Dean's leaking, loosened entrance.

Moaning in sheer delight, Castiel kissed the pucker and eagerly licked up every bit of wetness coating the surrounding area, not caring about the short pubes that tickled his tongue, not caring about Dean's attentions to his own flesh, lost in euphoria at the _taste_ of this _perfect_ man.

 _Mine_.

All too soon, there was little left but saliva, but a steady stream leaked free from Dean's puckering, promising so much more inside. Catching the drip with his tongue, Castiel licked a trail to Dean's hole, swallowed the sweetness in his mouth, and pressed in, seeking more, seeking the source. Dean broke off his attentions to Castiel's tip with a gasp that Castiel scarce heard for the rushing in his ears as he easily breached Dean's rim, sucking and swallowing and licking and barely stifling groans that growled low in his chest. Rocking back, Dean nearly double himself over, legs splayed around Castiel's body, to give Cas better access, encourage him deeper. Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean's hips, propped him up with one arm and used the other to spread Dean as Castiel began to slowly, slowly plunge his tongue in and out of Dean's body.

Every suck against Castiel's tip came with a pulse that coursed through him from head to toe. Every lick at his slit flashed bright behind Castiel's eyes. Every moan that died in Dean's throat ran over Castiel's skin like a caress. Usually, getting Castiel off was a drawn out process of teasing and touching, but this was unbelievable, Castiel was so suffused, his every orifice was filled the Dean – his mouth over Dean's hole, Dean's mouth over Cas' cock, Dean's fingers tugging and toying at his hole, his nose utterly clogged with winter-fresh, unable to hear anything but his pounding heartbeat and every sound Dean made. The distinct pulse of impending orgasm throbbed through him and he had to pull his mouth from Dean, unable to breathe, unable to keep himself from thrusting into Dean's mouth. Dean choked a sob at the loss of contact, his hips ineffectively twitching towards Castiel's face.

 _Not about me, about him, this is about him, this is about..._

Castiel groaned again as Dean took in the entire head of his cock and sucked hard. Fresh slick leaked free and Castiel couldn't leave it, he _needed_ to taste Dean, to drink him in. Dean started to shake and Castiel focused on him, focused on how deeply he could penetrate that needy hole, focused on shifting his weight so he could free one hand and get a grip on Dean's dick. Dean quivered in response and sucked harder, desperately tongued at Castiel's cock, rubbed fingers against Castiel's prostate, used his free hand to cup and knead Castiel's balls. A rush of intensely hot intense cold filled Castiel's mouth, the most pure, undiluted flavor of _Dean_ that Castiel had ever tasted, gave a moment's notice before Dean's hips bucked and Dean came, cock pulsing so strongly Castiel could feel it against his palm. The taste was so unbelievable, so perfect, that it was the last straw, and Castiel pulled free and moaned with his lips yet against Dean's taint, coming into Dean's eager mouth. It was all Castiel could do to roll to the side before he collapsed, gasping for air, lips and chin and stubble coated in Dean, smell almost unbearably thick. The whole world seemed to be Dean's scent.

A shaky Dean crawled atop him an instant later, rutting skin against skin, chest against chest, locking lips to trade the flavor of fresh slick with new ejaculate. The combination was so shockingly, unbelievably good that Castiel's hips stuttered, his cock twitched, a fresh burst of semen pulsed out of him.

 _Oh,_ God _, we taste so good together, so good, holy_ shit.

Hardly aware what he was doing, Castiel wrapped one arm around Dean's shoulders, the other around Dean's head and held him tightly in place and _devoured_ Dean's mouth, sharing the taste as Dean groaned a low note in his throat. Dean straddled Castiel's hips, wet dampening Castiel's pubes, weight applying wonderful pleasure to Castiel's aching softness. Castiel refused to stop kissing Dean until both of their chests were heaving with the need for air. When they finally broke apart, Dean barely pulled away, their chests brushing with each deep inhalation.

"Knot me," growled Dean. "Knot me _now_ , Cas."

Starting to lean forward, Castiel reached for the purple vibrator.

"No," Dean snarled, crushing his weight against Castiel's body, capturing Castiel's shoulders in his strong hands. " _Knot me_. _You_ , Castiel."

"Dean—"

"Need your gorgeous fucking cock inside me, need you to stuff me so full I forget my fucking name, need your knot to ruin me," desperation tinged the words, Dean rubbing his slick along Castiel's length. For a wonder, Castiel felt a surge of blood, enough that his length flopped from laying along one thigh to the other, but that was it. " _Fuck me, Castiel_."

"Dean, I can't!"

The words made no impression at all, one look at Dean's face showed him _gone_ , head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth agape as he rutted his perineum over Castiel's softness over and over again. "Do it, do it, fuck me, fill me, oh _fuck_ I want you so much, _you_ , has to be _you_ , only _you_ , I...I..."

To Castiel's shock, a groan _ripped_ from Dean's throat and he came again, just like that quickly, just from imagining how riding Castiel would feel. Dean collapsed atop him, still rutting weakly, pressing his face against Castiel's chest.

" _Please_ , Cas, _help me_ ," he moaned.

"Oh, Dean," Castiel replied helplessly, wrapping his arms around his shaking love. His chest compressed and ached agonizingly in a way that had nothing to do with his suspicious signs of illness nor how heavily Dean slumped against him. "I will, I promise I will."

* * *

Dusk was falling on the longest, most harrowing damn day of Castiel's entire life and he dragged a hand over his face, wiping dried sweat from his forehead and grit from his eyes.

"I understand," he said into the phone. "I appreciate that you asked her."

"Anything for my brotha," Benny replied apologetically, drawl thick. " 'Cept what my wife says no to, that is. I, uh, I mighta once told Andrea that Dean was the second best lay of my life, and she took it a bit personal even though I made it damn clear she was first. If things were different, I'd already be on my way. Have you tried Charlie?"

"Well, considering she's a lesbian..."

"Cas, I was there during Dean's last heat," Benny interrupted. "I'm the one who had to take him to the hospital."

"Hospital?" Castiel interjected, horror struck. It was the confirmation of all his worst fears.

"What, he never told you?"

"No..."

" 'Course he didn't," snorted Benny. "His suppressants failed not long after he turned 20. Sam was only fifteen, and had just presented as omega himself, and had no damn clue what to do. Somehow, he knew Dean and I had been a thing once and he got a hold of me. We tried to treat it normal – hydration, masturbation, inflatable knots, you know the drill – but he got worse and worse. We didn't realize how serious it had gotten until he had a seizure. It's all the sweating and the slick production, apparently, it dehydrates the fuck outta him. Have you been making sure he drinks?"

"Of course." Castiel's heart was racing with fear, and he paced the length of the small living room manically, all feeling of fatigue forgotten.

"Has he used the bathroom at all?"

Picking through everything that had happened since the previous evening, Castiel tried to remember. "...No." Dammit, he'd been with Dean every virtually non-stop for twenty-four hours, how had not noticed that Dean hadn't need to go to the bathroom?

"Yeah, you got problems. Get him to drink more or get him to the doctor state – if he's not pissing at least a couple times a day, that's real bad."

Dean's cycles had sped up, down to 90 minutes now, his desperate begging heart rending, and it took longer and longer to wring an orgasm from him. His body was completely rejecting the fake knot, he hadn't produced ejaculate since before noon, and he absolutely _dripped_ slick the entire damn time. It had taken fisting him to get him off last time, and he'd passed out the instant he'd collapsed, spent, against the bed. Castiel had gotten two entire pitchers of water into him, but clearly it wasn't enough. He'd managed to spoon some cereal into Dean, too, but he'd thrown it up afterwards, heaving into a garbage can that Castiel barely managed to retrieve in time.

"So, Cas, I gotta ask...why don't _you_ knot him?"

"I _can't_ ," said Castiel pathetically.

There was a long pause.

"...Oh. Uh. I thought..."

"I just can't, Benny," Castiel's shoulder slumped in defeat. "I've got to go, he'll be lucky if sleeps an hour. I'll try Charlie."

"If you can't find someone, get him to the hospital," advised Benny. "There's a reason he takes the most powerful suppressant on the market."

Castiel hadn't known that. He hadn't known that suppressants had failed Dean before. He hadn't known how desperately Dean would need a knot, or how severely ill he'd grow. They'd never talked about it. Dammit, _why_ had they never talked about it? Wasn't sexual health one of those things couples were supposed to talk about? But, then, they'd never talked about being a couple, either. Everything had always been so _easy_ , each step of their relationship had followed so automatically that they'd never had to have those awkward, difficult talks. Only now, faced with the consequences of his ignorance, did Castiel realize how much he'd taken for granted by not learning more about Dean's history. If they'd discussed it, Castiel could have tried doctors again, maybe some advance could treat his problem, could fix him so that he could help Dean. He'd thought about it, of course, but Dean had always so sweetly insisted that Castiel wasn't broken, and damn him, Castiel had believed it, and now Dean was suffering because he was _wrong_ , Castiel _was_ broken and couldn't do the one thing Dean needed from him, the one thing Dean could _only_ get from an alpha.

Dejectedly, he hung up and dialed Charlie.

"Yo, Cassie, what's up?" she answered brightly.

"I need... _Dean_ needs your help," he said.

 _Dean is_ my _omega, none of them get to have him, he's_ mine _, I'll knot him, I'll..._

"Spill it," she said, all levity vanishing instantly.

 _God, I'm useless._

"It's about Dean's heat—"

"You're looking for someone to knot him since you can't," she finished the thought.

"How did you know...?"

"Dean's pretty much my best friend in the whole damn world, I wasn't about to let just _anyone_ move in with him, so I checked you out a bit," she explained. "There's a couple medical papers about your problem, it's not that common you know."

"I had no idea," Castiel sighed. _Fantastic, add "anyone who knows how to use Google can learn that I'm garbage" to the ways in which my life is falling apart._

"I wish I could help," she continued sadly. "But, there's this whole 'gold star lesbian' thing – guys, are _really_ not my thing – and, well, honestly I'd say fuck it to protect Dean, but there's also this girl, we've been hitting it off, and if she smells another omega on me, and it's a dude...I'm sorry, Cas, I really am. Have you tried Benny?"

"He suggested I call you."

"What about Madison?"

"I don't think Dean could ever live down sleeping with his brother's wife," he said.

"Yeah, there's that." There was a pensive pause. "I'm sorry, man, I got nothin'. Let me know he's doin' okay when you get the chance, will you?"

"Absolutely," he said and hung up. "Fuck!" He banged his head against the darkened phone screen.

Dean _needed_ a knot. That wasn't optional any longer. Castiel had felt a few further surges of arousal, his cock more reactive than it had been any time since he was a teenager, but there wasn't the least reason to think those twitches of mild arousal would _ever_ result in him getting hard enough to attempt penetration. If none of their friends could do it, Castiel would have to find someone who could, anyone. Dean would hate it, but no matter how much Dean liked Dr. Sexy, he hated actually going to the doctor, and Castiel had never cared enough to find out why – he bet he knew now. Beyond that, they barely made ends meet as it was, and neither of their jobs included health insurance. Dean paid out of pocket for his suppressants. That alone should have clued Castiel in that something abnormal was going on, but he'd never thought it through and now his regrets and guilt choked at him. The concept of going out to pick up a strange alpha to knot the Goddamn _love of Castiel's life_ was repugnant, but what choices did he have? Let a stranger touch Dean, watch Dean suffer in life-threatening agony for a week, or take him to the hospital and incur a pile of bills they couldn't possibly afford. There was no choice at all. Jealous and anger and self-loathing made a noxious roil of Castiel's stomach.

 _This isn't about what I want. This is about what Dean needs._

The idea of letting Benny or Charlie touch Dean got Castiel's hackles up, forced an involuntary growl in the back of his throat, but the idea of allowing a complete stranger to do so made him want to hit something. His head spun at the confusing mix of emotions. He'd only managed a few broken hours of sleep on the rare occasions when Dean rested easy, and the early signs of illness he'd felt in the morning had only grown worse. His throat and entire body ached, his head felt packed with wool and pain, his skin itched and crawled and prickled.

 _Selfish, selfish, selfish. I have to help Dean. I have to._

Resolution made, he went to grab a pair of socks. He was already dressed, he'd suspected he'd have to go out to find a solution to their problem. If he didn't act immediately, he'd cave, he'd give into what _he_ wanted: to curl up around Dean, to hold him close, cherish him, protect him, never let anyone else have him. _He's mine_. Turning into the hallway, he stopped dead.

Dean was standing there naked, leaning against the wall heavily but on his feet, his expression so pained that Castiel wanted to cry.

"You don't want me," Dean whispered. His voice was cracked and dry, barely intelligible it was so broken by his cries and moans of the past day.

"Dean—"

"No!" A tear beaded from the corner of Dean's eye, streaking down his cheek, catching on his unshaven cheek. "Don't lie to me, Cas. You're leaving, aren't you?"

"I'll be back soon," Castiel said, the words sounding hollow in his ears even though they were technically true. "I can't give you what you need – you've got to have a knot, Dean."

Dean shook his head and swooned against the wall. Castiel took a worried step closer to him, only to be frozen by the glare on Dean's face.

"I said I'd do anything to help you, Dean, and I _will_ ," snapped Castiel, his helplessness finding outlet as pointless, unfair anger. "If the only way I can take care of you is to find someone else to give you what you need, then that's what I'll do."

"I don't want _a_ knot," Dean ground out. "I want _your_ knot."

"Well, glad we clarified that, I'll get right on that, Dean – oh, wait, I _can't_." All of Castiel's anger and guilt and exasperation and frustration burst out. "Why didn't you ever tell me how bad your heats are? Benny says you might _die_. I can't let that happen! Even if it means losing you, even if it means you hate me, any sacrifice is worth it to keep you _alive_. It's either find you an alpha or take you to the emergency room. You tell me – which would you prefer?"

" _I already have an alpha_ ," snarled Dean. The exertion of shouting dropped him to his knees and Castiel closed the last couple steps between them to gather Dean up in his arms and ease him to the ground. For an instant, Dean resisted, and then he gave up, collapsing weakly into Castiel's embrace. " _You're_ my alpha, I mean, I'm yours, Cas, I never want to be anyone's but yours, whatever the consequences of that might be. Okay? I'm yours, right? I thought...but now you're...what am I supposed to think, Cas? Why won't you help me?"

"Because I can't," Cas repeated, feeling defeated.

"But...but you _have_ been...what's changed?" Dean implored. "I'm...I'm really trying, I'm trying not to be a bother, I warned you I wouldn't be able to stop myself from begging for things you can't do, you know I don't blame you, I just can't help it...it's like I'm burning up, God, I _need_ , I need _so much_...but it'll be over soon, it will be. You said that would be okay, Cas! But now...it's not?" Dean's eyes were wide, green as spring foliage even in the faint light, his scent muted for a change, and he looked defenseless, helpless, so incredibly vulnerable, so far from his usual cool, casual, confident self. Castiel couldn't process what he'd said, couldn't find any suitable words to reply. "I _trusted_ you. Please don't give up on me, Cas."

"Dean..."

"I'm sorry I'm broken," Dean whispered. "I'm sorry I have ridiculous heats, I'm sorry I busted the suppressants, I'm sorry I'm sick, I'm sorry I'm exhausting to care for, I'm sorry I make you feel bad about yourself. Please, don't bring another alpha home. You know if they come near me I won't be able to help myself. Please don't ask me to allow anyone else to touch me. Please, please don't ask me to smell like anyone else, I never want to smell like anyone but you, Cas."

"No," Castiel muttered vaguely, hazy mind spinning out the possibilities. He imagined coming to bed to find it smelling like some other alpha, he imagined licking at Dean's slick and tasting someone else mixed in, he imagined Dean big with someone else's pups, he imagined Dean making sweet noises because someone else had touched him. His vision flashed red. " _No_." Dean flinched and quailed in his arms, looking away, but Castiel couldn't take the time to correct Dean's misconception, instead he gathered the weakened man up in his arms, held him as tightly as he ever had, so close, and pressed his nose into his scent glands, nipping at the skin. " _Mine_." Dean gasped. "You're _mine_ , Dean."

"Yes, _please_."

Castiel licked suggestively at the curve of Dean's neck, tasting sweat and snow. Dean craned his head to the side, giving Castiel room, an encouraging sound dying in Dean's throat. "Nothing changed, Dean," he breathed against Dean's flushing skin. " _Nothing_ , but I can't stand to see you suffer when I can't help you."

"You're helping me," whispered Dean into his ear, wrapping an arm over Castiel's shoulder, whimpering as Castiel mouthed at his neck.

 _Not like this, I don't want to mate him like this, God, I want to mate him, he wants me to mate him, but not like this. He's not in his right mind right now. He might regret it when he's over his heat. It can wait._

"I'd rather suffer with you than be satisfied by anyone else," Dean continued.

"That's kind of crazy," said Castiel, smiling despite himself.

"Then I guess I'm kind of crazy for you," Dean replied, scenting him deeply. Every bit of pain that had compressed Castiel's chest, choked his thoughts, left him aching and guilty, vanished at the words, at Dean's tender inflection, at the way Dean's chapped, dry lips brushed at Castiel's neck.

"I love you so much, Dean," Castiel breathed. "My omega." He felt Dean smile against his skin. Stroking gently along the curve of Dean's back, Castiel eased the tension he felt there, soothed away the trembling, tried to communicate with a touch how profoundly he meant every word he said. Dean's breathing grew calmer, his eyes slipped shut, he sighed happily. The scent of his slick began to grow again – if his cycles held up, they were maybe half an hour before the next surge in his heat – and desire thrummed beneath Castiel's skin in reply.

 _Want_.

"Why did you get out of bed?" Castiel asked at length.

"Needed to take a leak," mumbled Dean.

Relief washed away the last of Castiel's worries. _He_ is _hydrated enough. I am taking care of him, I_ am. "May I help you?" Castiel asked hesitantly.

Looking up, Dean blinked at him shyly, blushing a faint pink. "Um...not gonna lie...that'd be kinda weird, dude..."

"Prove to me that you can stand under your own power and I will no longer suggest that I hold you up while you urinate," said Castiel.

In Dean's defense, he tried, but his legs were simply no longer strong enough to lift him from the ground, nor was he able to shrug off Castiel's embrace even when Castiel loosened his hold on Dean's shoulders. By the time Dean gave up, his scowl was so adorable that Castiel couldn't help but smile and brush a kiss over Dean's nose. For an instant, Dean looked shocked, and then his scowl stretched out into a pout. "Come on, Cas, I gotta piss."

"Then let's get you to the bathroom, shall we?"

* * *

Author's Note:

Good news and bad news and good news!

Good news: the first draft is done!

Bad news: I'm not going to have the energy to get the entire thing edited and posted tonight.

Good news: that's because it's 35,000 words, so damn much longer than I was anticipating, so, ya know, more story is good, right? :)

Goal is to get up one more chapter tonight, then I'll post the rest tomorrow. I'm still putzing with how many chapters its going to be, but, well, it's all written, so now it's just a question of how to divide it.


	6. Chapter 6

Hey guys...while I was editing, a thing happened that wasn't actually that big a deal but was pretty upsetting (overheard one of my neighbors doing something that required calling the cops, and there wasn't anything else I could do, and that was extremely frustrating). I'm still pretty rattled but I really wanted to get this up. So here it is. But just as an FYI it's definitely not as well edited as I usually try to post. I'll try to go through and clean it up a bit better at some point.

I hope ya'll enjoy anyway. :)

* * *

" _Dean_ ," Castiel moaned, pleasure coursing through him.

 _Want to claim my mate. Want to take him. Want to satisfy him in every possible way._

The difference between wakefulness and dreams had grown increasingly difficult to recognize as the second night of Dean's heat stretched out towards the second morning. Castiel was so tired that he drifted in and out, losing thirty seconds or a minute at a time even when he thought he was awake. Dean's surges were scarce above an hour apart, ensuring that, between taking care of Dean, cleaning up, and making sure the room was well-stocked with everything they needed, Castiel couldn't get more than a half hour of sleep at a time. More than once he'd awoken to find Dean grinding against him, kissing him, begging him for a knot. More than once, a dream of a walk along the beach or holding hands or exchanging sweet words had faded into a far more erotic, far less innocent reality, though both had seemed equally vivid and real to Castiel's fatigued, addled thoughts.

 _Mine_.

Hands were on Castiel's nipples, lips were on his, slick coated his cock, half-hard and growing more firm by the instant, the feeling so alien and yet so profoundly welcome and comforting and familiar that the years since his last erection fell away in an instant.

 _Want him, want to fill him, want to make him come, want to knot him, want to pump him full of my release, want to make him swell with my seed..._

"Dean," he panted. "Oh, _God_ , Dean, feels so good..."

 _Wait. This is impossible_.

Castiel jolted awake. Faint gray light suffused the room. The smell of slick was thick, Dean lying beside Castiel on the bed, apparently still asleep despite the way he leaked needy noises and rubbed his crotch slowly and repetitively against the sheets. The clock said it was a little after 6, a little over an hour since Dean's last orgasm. If he was still asleep, that was _great_. Castiel wouldn't move a damn _muscle_ and risk waking him before he came to on his own. Shifting into a slightly more comfortable position, Castiel was relieved to find that the symptoms he'd taken for impending illness appeared to have faded. He was still achy, still tired, but his head was clear, remarkably so all things considered, and arousal pulsed through him in place of the weakness that had made every limb feel unresponsive. Heck, he felt _good_ , better than he could remember feeling in a while.

 _Mine. Soon._

Dean whimpered and Castiel considered waking him, wondered if maybe he was already awake.

 _Want my mate_.

The scent of winter deepened – _maybe I'll see snow if I look out the window; I should make us hot chocolate when this is done_ – and Castiel felt another throb of desire cascade down from his scalp like he'd been dowsed in water. He rolled to his side to get a better view of Dean's face, to see if he was suffering; if he were, Castiel would wake him. _I haven't tried riding him yet, he's never penetrated me. That could be interesting, or I could suck on him while I fist him again, that seemed to work well, his body almost seems to accept my hand as a knot – better than it accepts anything else, anyway._ As he settled into the new position, his cock flopped over heavily, twitched, brushed his belly, and he froze, hardly daring to breath.

 _I'm..._

"Dean," he croaked desperately. Dean moaned faintly and rubbed himself more vigorously against the bed but didn't wake.

 _I'm..._

With fumbling fingers, terrified he was imagining things, terrified that with a simple touch he'd ruin everything, Castiel groped under the sheet covering him and got a hand on his cock.

 _Oh my_ God _, I'm hard, I'm kind of hard, it's something, it might be enough, it might be—_

"Dean," he repeated more urgently. Wrapping the hand around his thickness, Castiel stroked himself awkwardly, the feelings so foreign he hardly knew what he was doing. Pleasure lit through his body like lightning, firing his imagination, and so far from ruining it, he throbbed against his own grip, grew a little firmer. It was far from a powerful erection, he was floppy, partially limp, but the stiffness underlying the soft flesh was undeniable, and he was getting harder, he thought he could feel the blood rushing through his veins, pooling in his dick, stretching his length, thickening it. Unable to stop touching himself, he flailed for Dean with his other hand, getting a hold of Dean's arm. Dean awoke with a start, eyes flying open, lust-blown pupils obvious even in the early morning dim.

 _I've felt so possessive the last few days, not like normal – so hot, so needy, so horny, I was so focused on Dean I didn't even think about it, I didn't even consider that anything was going on beyond exhaustion and maybe a cold, and that the arousal was a response to his heat_

"Cas," Dean growled, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. With more strength than Dean had demonstrated in nearly a day, he tackled Castiel, threw the sheet from the bed, and buried his face in Castiel's neck, snuffling at the thick scent there. "You smell...you're..."

 _It_ is _a response to his heat._

"It's a rut, Dean, I'm having a rut," Castiel moaned. With an aggressive snarl, Dean pushed Castiel onto his back and straddled him. Castiel's cock flopped again, rubbed over his belly, strained towards the slick that Castiel could see glistening along Dean's thighs. Hands trailed down Castiel's sides, lips sucked on his neck, Dean lowered himself to skim his crack sleekly, wetly, over Castiel's growing hardness. Castiel's pleasure spiked, his cock _jumped_ towards the contact, and Castiel arched from the bed, involuntarily chasing the offered pleasure.

 _Mates' cycles often synch, but I never thought...we're not mates_...

That was a technicality and Castiel knew it. He'd never met _anyone_ who smelled as good as Dean, and he knew Dean felt the same. They might not have shared blood but they were so into each other's scents they were straight out of one of those books with beefy alphas holding swooning omegas on the cover.

 _He's_ mine _and I can finally_ prove it.

"Fuck yeah," Dean groaned in his ear. "You gonna knot me now, Cas?" Castiel growled possessively, clamping his hands around Dean's hips and forcing him to stop moving away, steering him until his hole was lined up over Castiel's crotch. Reaching down, Castiel wrapped a hand around his cock, gave himself another stroke that pulsed further hardness down his impressive length. "You gonna—" Dean groaned hugely as Castiel rubbed his head against Dean's entrance, made so loose and ready by the ample sex that had gotten Dean through the first two days of his heat.

"This what you want, Dean?" Castiel whispered lasciviously.

Dean nodded frantically. " _God_ , yes, since the day I met you, every day since, want you, Cas, fuck me, _fuck me_."

 _Wait, we're not in our right minds, he's in heat, I'm in rut, I could hurt him, I'm so big, God, maybe this isn't a good thing, I won't be able to stop myself, I don't want to stop myself, I want to sink in to him, I want to thrust until I lose my mind, I want to mark him and claim him and..._

With every bit of willpower Castiel could muster, he loosed his grip on himself, slipped out from between Dean's legs as Dean blinked at him with lustful bafflement. "Are you _sure_ , Dean?"

"Need you, Cas, always needed you, I've never been so sure of anything in my fucking _life_ ," Dean breathed urgently, staring with raw desire at Castiel's cock.

Leaning forward, Castiel put a hand on Dean's cheek, forced their eyes to meet, waiting agonizing seconds for Dean's eyes to come into focus on his, for the hungry need in Dean's expression to fade to something more cognizant.

"Cas," he whined desperately.

"I _need_ you to be sure, Dean," Castiel implored. "You're not on birth control and we don't have any condoms. If we do this now, while you're in heat, while I'm in rut, you _know_ what will happen."

"I know," whispered Dean. "What if that's something I want, what if that's something I've _always_ wanted – never thought I'd get to have – would that be okay, Cas?"

"Yeah," said Castiel. "I thought the same." He'd hardly let himself think about pups, so sure it would be impossible, but he'd watched other families, watched Sam's swelling belly, and repressed the longing he felt, told himself he'd be an uncle, that it would have to be enough because it was all he'd ever have. Castiel leaned forward and brushed his lips over Dean's, every _fiber_ of him screaming to throw Dean to the bed and have his way with the gorgeous, leaking omega. "Also...Dean, I'm...big...if I hurt you, you _have_ to tell me."

"You won't," Dean drew away, a cocky smirk painting his face into the most relaxed, happy expression Castiel had seen on him since he'd gotten home reeking of the onset of his heat. "You _kiddin'_ me, Cas? I've dreamed of riding your huge dick since the first time I saw it." Calloused fingers wrapped around him and Castiel mewled pathetically at how good it felt to have Dean touching his erection. "This right here? This is the stuff of my wettest dreams. I used to have a bigger toy than the purple one. I used it so often it broke."

"I'd rather you not break my dick," Castiel managed, panting as Dean began to stroke him. "I mean, more than it's already broken."

"Not broken, Cas," Dean said gruffly. "Looks like it's working fine to me." He emphasized the point by rubbing a thumb over the single drop of liquid beaded at the tip, and Castiel whimpered.

 _Mine._

"On your knees," ordered Castiel. The smirk stretched into a toothy grin and Dean fucking _winked_ before letting Castiel go, rolling onto his front, lowering his shoulders to the bed and presenting his gorgeous, slick-smeared ass. Taking position behind him, Castiel put a hand on his half-hard cock, rubbed his tip over Dean's entrance. Even after the vigorous activity of the past two days Dean's opening looked tiny in comparison to Castiel's girth, but the last vestiges of restraint and worry dissolved confronted with Dean's obvious desire, his words, and the burst of wonderful scent released to the room as Dean spread his legs wider. As the moment stretched out, Dean rubbed back against him, and Castiel set his off hand on Dean's butt cheek to hold him still. Reaching around himself, Dean grasped each of his cheeks and spread them wide invitingly.

"Beautiful," Castiel murmured, leaning down to kiss at the hole. "You're so beautiful, Dean, you're so perfect. I've wanted you for so long, I never thought I'd get to feel this." Dean whimpered at the feel of Castiel's breath ghosting over his dampness.

"Please..."

"Don't worry," whispered Castiel. He leaned back, lined himself up, pressed gently against Dean's hole, the slight give enough to flood the tip of Castiel's cock with unbelievable sensation. "I've got you, Dean, I've finally got you." The pucker spread slowly, tortuously slowly, and by tiny increments Castiel's thick head breached Dean. Dean trembled with the effort of keeping restraining himself and waiting.

"So big, fuck, so _big_ , want it Cas, want you so much, more, please, more, give it to me, give me all of it," desperate words and breathy moans leaked from Dean. There was no going faster, though. Even as slick and loose as Dean was, Castiel felt the resistance of Dean's body profoundly. Dean had taken Castiel's fist twice over the proceeding day, but his cock was bigger – not immensely bigger, but noticeably so. His lingering softness didn't help, though that was fading further under the onslaught of feelings as more and more of his cock was buried in Dean's wet, tight heat.

"Dean," he panted, squeezing his eyes shut. Sweat streaked along his cheeks, dripped from his chest, at the strain of holding himself back. "I've never...I never imagined...feels so _good_ , you feel so good..."

"Yeah...yeah, Cas..."

No longer needing his hand to hold his cock in place, Castiel took a grip on each of Dean's hips, pulling him back even as Castiel continued to press forward. His cock was thicker the closer to the base they got, spreading Dean wider and wider.

"This is okay – tell me this is okay – oh God, I don't want to stop, I don't want to..."

"Don't, _please_ don't, I can take more, I _can_ , _fuck_ , Cas, so big, so fucking big, I feel...I feel..." Dean cut off with a sob. Dean's body was resisting further intrusion, his hole clenching around Castiel, mingling pain and pleasure at the pressure being applied over every inch of his length. A surge of blood through his cock hardened him further and Dean moaned as Castiel swelled bigger within him. Uncertainly, Castiel pulled out an inch, two inches, looking down to watch in wonder – his hardness emerging from Dean's gorgeous hole, stretched wide, the rim reddened with the strain, Castiel's length coated in sweet smelling slick.

 _I'll smell him on me forever. He'll smell like me forever. I'm his. He's mine. All mine. No one else gets to touch him, no one._

Castiel thrust in gentle, sinking in more deeply than he had before, and Dean cried out. Again, and again, Castiel drew out part way and pushed in, helping Dean's muscles ease, getting his length thoroughly coated with slick until, in a single smooth motion, Dean took all of him as if swallowing him down and Castiel's crotch came to rest against Dean's wide-spread cheeks. Tearing his eyes from the enticing view of Dean stretched around him, encasing him completely, Castiel looked down the curve of Dean's lovely back, found Dean's eyes as Dean looked back over his shoulder, flushed bright red, panting desperately, eyes wide and amazed.

"Cas," he managed. "Cas...holy shit, Cas..." Dean pivoted his hips, forcing Castiel to move within him, and gasped. "All of me, you're touching _all_ of me, every fucking wall, my fucking prostate..." He pivoted again and moaned, slumping back against Castiel's supporting body. The movement ran the tight ring of muscle over the base of Castiel's cock, scrapped every sensitive inch of skin along Dean's slickened channel, slammed Castiel's leaking head against something solid. Fervently, Castiel echoed Dean's moan. "My fucking _cervix_ , Cas, you're touching my... _fuck_ , feels so...so..." Pivoting again, groaning, Dean let go of his ass and wrapped his arms under his head, burying his face in the crook of one elbow. "Close, I'm already close...this is...this is unbelievable...this is _everything_." Dean's body tensed around him, and Castiel's heart raced, his blood afire as it carried bliss to every corner of his body and pulsed through his cock, hardening him further, thickening him further, lengthening and firming him within Dean's body. With a gentle roll of his hips, Castiel pulled slightly out and pushed back in, the muscles compressing around him increasing as Dean came closer and closer to release.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good," murmured Castiel tenderly, finding a rhythm that barely withdrew him, preferring the feel of the subtle rub of cock against burning insides. "How many times do you think I can make you come like this, Dean?" Nodding against his arm, Dean managed an inarticulate reply whose meaning Castiel couldn't beginning to guess. "We managed three on Tuesday night and all we had then was a piece of plastic. This is better, right?"

"Yes," gasped Dean, "it's better, so much better, _incomparable_ , Cas, you—" Castiel pivoted back and pushed in as hard as he'd done yet. Dean cried out in ecstasy and came, splattering their last clean towel with gobs of release, more than he'd produced since his very first orgasm two days before. Stilling with effort – _God_ , moving inside Dean felt so good, the relaxation following Dean's climax easing the clench until Castiel thought he could pull out nearly all the way and pound back in hard without the least hitch – Castiel waited, panting, for Dean's heart to stop pounding audibly. Castiel could feel every beat where they were joined, feel it in every matching beat of his own heart. He ran soothing hand along Dean's spine, along his side, swept to his belly to gentle rub at the soft flesh there. When he thought Dean sufficiently calm, he began his slow roll again, spawning fireworks behind his eyes, the heat in his mind growing, radiating out from each place they touched to every part of Castiel's body. Dean sighed happily and matched Castiel's rhythm, rocking gently backwards each time Castiel scooped forward against his ass.

"Oh, Dean," he whispered, caressing every inch of skin he could find, tracing every line of Dean's body. He was fully hard now, but his knot hadn't begin to bulge even a little. As the pace grew comfortable, familiar, he longed for more, began to pull out and thrust deeply in earnest, grunting each time he bottomed out. Dean was mostly quiet for a change, breathing hard as he held himself in place, spread his legs a little further, kept himself wide open and relaxed for Castiel. The build was slow, agonizingly so, the exertion surprisingly hard. His thighs burned, his chest weeping sweat, beads streaking down his spine. On and on they went, until his wandering hands brushed against Dean's renewed erection, until Dean's breaths became vocal once more, until he felt the first resistance against a back stroke and looked down to see his knot beginning to swell. Dean moaned at the feeling of greater thickness stretching him further each time Castiel thrust in, and Dean pushed back against him with increasing urgency as it grew harder and harder to breach him each time. Castiel thrust harder, past worrying about hurting Dean, past worrying about anything except the exquisite drag of Dean's entrance over his burgeoning knot. He'd thought that the pressure on his tip was rapturously good, but this was even better, and the two combined were pushed him to go harder, faster, urged him on.

 _Mine_.

"Yours," Dean echoed with a desperate nod. Castiel hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud, but hearing Dean's agreement enflamed him.

"Mine," he snarled again.

" _Prove it_ ," snapped Dean. Castiel drove in _hard_ and froze, grabbing Dean's hips hard and pivoting them to the left,. Taking the hint, Dean rolled to his side, lifting his leg awkwardly around Castiel's body without allowing more than a couple inches of Castiel's huge cock to emerge from his body.

"Yes," Castiel grinned as Dean got on to his back. Leaning forward, he rolled Dean's hips up, snagged each of Dean's legs with his arms and forced them back, forced them apart, and lay over Dean, sinking into him deeply. His mouth could just reach Dean's shapely clavicle, and he mouthed a sucking kiss over the bone as he wrenched out again, pushed back in again, and Dean moved and strained for a position that would enable him to match Castiel's strokes and drive him deeper. "Want to see you, want to watch your face when I finally give you what you've been begging for."

"Gonna knot me?" Dean whispered the question as if he could scarce believe it. Dean's expression was indescribable, blissful, eyes closed, mouth slack, each gasping breath drawn over dry lips to rasp in his roughened throat.

"I'm going to take such good care of you," Castiel vowed. "Knot you, fill you, clean you up, make sure you finally get some food, something more to drink." Tasting along the line of Dean's shoulder, Castiel sampled Dean's wintery flavor, mingled with the tangy salt of sweat, looking for the perfect spot. He had no idea what that entailed, but he knew he'd recognize it when he tasted it. He thrust in hard, insistently, over and over into Dean's willing body. "Is that alright, Dean?"

"Love you, Cas," gasped Dean, bucking into each stroke. "Love you – love this – I'm gonna...again, again, I'm gonna..." The clench was sudden and fierce and forced a profound groan from Castiel as, virtually from nowhere, Dean's chest and abs clenched and lifted him from the bed, his orgasm crested, and he slammed back down again, gasping and squirming against Castiel's cock.

There was no waiting this time. The temporary tightness, the _delicious_ sounds Dean made, the burst of precious, wonderful slick that flooded Dean's channel and had Castiel sliding in and out almost frictionless, precluded any consideration of slowing down to give Dean time to recover. Castiel needed more, needed everything Dean could give, needed it _right then_. His knot swelled suddenly, straining against Dean's entrance at each hard stroke, and Castiel had to press increasingly hard to force it back within Dean's body. It felt so good, so much better than anything he'd ever done, and he wanted the feeling to never end. His tongue found the perfect flavor on Dean's neck, a spot where Castiel could feel the distant hum of Dean's racing pulse, taste the perfect purity of winter. Sucking, kissing, he nursed the spot as he pounded harder and harder against Dean.

"Do it," Dean whispered. Dean's hands trailed along Castiel's sweat-slickened back, came to rest on his hips, encouraged him to drive harder into each stroke. "Do it, Cas."

"Trying," Castiel gasped. "Maybe I...maybe I can't, maybe I..."

"You can," Dean nuzzled at Castiel's hair, managed to get his lips on Castiel's forehead. "I know you can, you're so close, and it feels so—" Castiel's knot swelled again and Dean gasped as Castiel pulled out almost violently, tried to thrust back in but couldn't, tried again, again, harder, harder, until on the fourth try Dean spread around him wonderfully, welcomed him, and Castiel swelled again. "Fucking _Christ_ that's _enormous_ , Cas, _Castiel_ , oh God..."

His knot caught, trapped him in gloriously in Dean's body, the tightest muscles in Dean's body squeezing against the most sensitive place on Castiel's. But he didn't come. Utter desperation seized him. To the accompaniment of Dean's increasingly incoherent babbling about just how _full_ he was, how _enormous_ Castiel's knot felt inside him, Castiel wrapped his arms awkwardly around Dean's legs, got a grip on Dean's hips, and frantically half-thrust into him over and over again. Every breath was a gasp, every feeling was unspeakable rapture, his body screamed fatigue but nothing trumped his need for more, more, _more._ A glance down showed him Dean straining to contain him, his flesh bulging out each time Castiel pulled back but unable to stretch enough to allow the knot out, easing again as Castiel pushed back urgently.

"Coming again, I'm coming again, fuck, _fuck_..."

... _now_.

Castiel bit _hard_ into the place he'd chosen on Dean's neck, Dean's body clenched impossibly hard around him, and Castiel's entire world exploded in fire and ecstasy. The flavor of Dean's blood was incredible, coating Castiel's mouth with winter that he knew he'd be able to taste the rest of his life, no matter how far from Dean he might roam – _no, not leaving his side, never, he's mine, I'm his, he's my mate_ – and Dean's muscles compressed his knot, milking free Castiel's first orgasm. The world vanished black, sense dissolving in pure sensation.

Awareness returned moments later, his body still moving though he'd lost himself for unknown seconds under the assault of the utter, perfect bliss he'd never experienced before. His lips lapped and sucked at the bite, his hips thrust weakly as burst after burst of semen escaped him. A secondary orgasm rocked him, a tertiary, as he continued to rock into Dean's body. Dean lay limply on the bed, arms fallen away from Castiel's hips, head lolling back against the mattress, chest heaving in rapid pants, eyes closed, tears leaking from the corners. Dean's body took over completely, autonomous muscles working perfectly, activating in response to being knotted. Each time Castiel surged through another tremoring release, a ripple of muscles starting at Dean's entrance and running all the way up his channel clenched in a cascade, milking Castiel for every drop, rippling pleasure along his over-stimulated length, drawing semen towards Dean's uterus. A moment passed and Castiel dared think they were done, but then his hips jerked involuntarily, Dean's entrance clenched around his knot again, and he was rocked a fourth time, a fifth.

"Dean," he moaned. A shaky hand flopped onto the back of Castiel's head, urged Castiel back to the bite still slowly leaking blood, and Castiel gently sucked the thickening flow. Dean's breathing stuttered, and it took a moment for Castiel to realize he was chuckling. A sixth release, a seventh. " _Fuck_." Dean chuckled more, his rapidly rising and falling chest shaking Castiel where he slumped atop him. "Is it... _always_...like this?"

"How'd I know?" Dean asked, words slurring together. "S'only my secon' time."

"My first," Castiel mumbled, licking up a streak of blood. An eighth, this one painful as the muscles coursed along him again, his body aching, straining to make more semen, straining to meet the demands Dean's body was putting on him as the hormones that drove Dean's intense heat did everything they could to ensure that the heat accomplished what it was meant to accomplish – Dean filled with come, Dean pregnant with a litter. A ninth orgasm, and Castiel moaned pitifully.

"Wassit good?" whispered Dean, voice shy, vulnerable.

"Unbelievable," Castiel confirmed, nodding against Dean's chest. "So amazing. I love you, Dean."

The fingers in Castiel's hair gently rubbed his scalp, traced the line of his ear. "Love you, Cas."

A tenth orgasm shook him, a direct response to the surge of pleasured emotions the words produced. Fumbling his arms free, Castiel let Dean lower his legs; they sank to the side of Cas' body at uncomfortable angles before Dean found the strength to curl them loosely around Castiel's ass. Wrapping his arms beneath Dean's neck and shoulders, they each shifted and moved to find a comfortable position.

"How long you think we'll be knotted?" asked Dean wryly as he wiggled against Castiel, triggering a damn _eleventh_ aftershock that left Castiel trembling with exhaustion.

"Might be awhile," he admitted in an embarrassed whisper.

"Oh?"

"Um...it's been a while but...last time I knotted, I was using a sleeve...it was hours..."

Dean laughed. "Grab me a pillow. If we're gonna be like this for _hours_ , you _beast_ , I want to be comfortable."

"Of course, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Woah, woah, Cas," Dean interrupted hastily. He sounded good, Castiel realized, he sounded as exhausted as Castiel felt, but the desperation was gone, the forlorn, lost whimper that had broken Castiel's heart and making him feel like a total failure of an alpha. Dean sounded _happy_. "Are you seriously attempting to apologize for the best thing that's ever happened to me?"

"This was the best thing that ever happened to you?" asked Castiel uncertainly.

Dean thwapped his forehead with a flick of two of his fingers. "You idiot, _you're_ the best thing that's ever happened to me. This is just a particularly fucking _awesome_ part of being with you." There was a long pause. "We're going to be parents, Cas." Castiel giggled. "I never thought I'd say this but...I'm fucking _glad_ my suppressants failed."

"Me too," Castiel whispered. Further words choked on a yawn. He was so tired. Dean's muscles rippled over Castiel's cock again, thankfully not enough to draw a twelfth orgasm from his spent body, but enough to tingle through him, leave him shivering. A crimson bead, twinkling in the sunlight finally streaming into the room, caught Castiel's eye, and he stuck his tongue out and let it dissolve into his saliva. Dean whimpered. "Mine."

"Always was yours," Dean said, petting Castiel's head kindly. He set a hand on Castiel's back, urging him with a touch to relax. "Rest now. We can clean up when your knot goes down, okay?"

Castiel nodded. Dean's fingers played soothingly in Castiel's sweat-drenched hair. To the accompaniment of quiet humming that buzzed through Dean's chest and into Castiel's ear where it pressed against Dean's heart, Castiel drifted off.

* * *

Castiel was already groaning when he woke up, eyes fluttering to show him the room in unfocused flashes as pleasure ran through his bodies in waves that intensified each time the pressure on his cock crept lower.

 _My omega. My lover. My mate. Mine._

With sudden clarity, his vision came into focus on Dean. At some point, Castiel had ended up on his back and Dean was straddling him, beautiful chest thrown back so every finely formed muscle stood out in crisp detail, hands clenched around Castiel's thighs, leg muscles rippling as he pumped up and down, up and down, working himself open around Castiel's dick, driving Castiel deeper and deeper into his body, until finally, wonderfully, he'd taken it all and he groaned low in satisfaction.

"Oh _yeah_ , that's it, shoulda heard the _sounds_ you were making, Cas, just what I needed, get to have you again, get to…get to..."

With a growl, Castiel hitched his knees up for better leverage, wrapped his hands around Dean's hips and, with straining muscles, lifted Dean up a few inches, slammed him back down, thrusting up to meet him, and Dean _screamed_ in pleasure, a sound that drove Castiel absolutely wild.

 _Mine!_

"You talk too much," snapped Castiel, not pausing for an instant, doing it again, again, until Dean didn't even try to move under his own power, just wrapped sweaty palms around Castiel's knees and held on for dear life. Bliss coursed through Castiel, rippled along his body in tempo to the pressure of Dean's tightness running along his hard length. Possessiveness washed in with pleasure, until all that was left in Castiel's mind was blinding rapture and the utterly satisfying knowledge that finally, _finally_ , Dean was _his_.

"Cas!" The press of muscles around Castiel's cock told him Dean was close, and he picked up his already quick pace, slamming home into Dean's body hard. "Cas, I—" Another deep thrust interrupted him, an incoherent cry ripped from Dean's throat, and come streaked free to rest wet and thick on Castiel's belly. Castiel's knot started to swell, catching at Dean's rim, and he didn't slow, driving home into that welcoming channel now so smooth and hot with fresh slick, the smell intoxicating, further driving away every thought save the imperative to knot his omega.

Dean's muscles went limp and he slumped forward, wrapped arms around Castiel's neck, gasping in time to Castiel's strokes. Only the need to keep a firm grip on Dean's hips, to keep pushing him down around Castiel's cock, to force Dean's body to take Castiel's growing knot over and over, prevented Castiel from wrapping arms around Dean and holding him close. Dean brushed their lips together, picked out the line of Castiel's chin, traced down the straining tendons of his neck, licking and nipping. Castiel knew _exactly_ what was coming and his need for it compounded every echoing pulse of pleasure, burst through his body, swelled his knot instantly as Dean found a spot he liked and dug his teeth into Castiel's flesh. The negligible pain of the bite was instantly subsumed in rapture – Dean wanted _him_ , wanted to be his mate, wanted to mark Castiel as Castiel had marked him, was willing to be Castiel's, _was willing for Castiel to be his_. With a ragged cry Castiel pushed his swollen knot into Dean's body and came instantly, whimpering Dean's name over and over again.

Dean wasn't done, he sucked at the thin stream of blood leaking free and rocked against the knot in his body, setting his arms on either side of Castiel's body to support himself as he arched his back up, cat like, to improve his leverage, moaning with each breath. Each time Dean pressed down against him forced another peak out of Castiel's body, another spurt of come. Castiel buried one hand amidst Dean's disheveled hair, holding him in place as he sucked at the fresh mating bite, wrapped the other around Dean's hardness, and did his best to help, stroking the short length, grinding up into Dean's body. The pleasure grew and grew, the intensity so powerful it became debilitating, until it was all Castiel could do to ride out each surge, all he could do to beg, "come for me, Dean, _please_!"

"Mine," growled Dean, the word vibrating through Castiel's chest.

" _Yes_ ," Castiel gasped, trembling as another wave of painful rapture passed through him.

" _Mine_ ," Dean repeated, sucking at the edges of the wound he had made, drawing more blood.

"Always, Dean, _always_."

Groaning, Dean ground his face against the hard flesh of Castiel's chest, smearing his face with traces of blood, and came, muscles tensing and forcing one last, profound orgasm from Castiel's knot, smearing more semen across Castiel's belly. Castiel shifted his hand from Dean's cock to the small of his back, fingers resting in the divots of the dimples Castiel thought one of Dean's most adorable features. They stayed like that, frozen in tableau until their breathing slowed, until their sweat dried gummy on their dirty skin, until their bodies calmed enough that Castiel couldn't feel their syncopated heart beats echoing through the flesh of his cock.

"Shit, my whole body _hurts_ ," Dean said explosively, trembling arms lowering him to lie on Castiel's chest. "It's getting dark again."

Surprised, Castiel turned towards the window. He'd been too gone on ecstasy and his rut to take in the dimming light in the room, had chalked it up to mid-morning – surely it could only have been a few hours since they'd knotted the first time – and realized it was true, the sliver of sky they could see between the surrounding buildings was definitely the lowering of a cloudy, overcast dusk.

"We slept all day," he said with wonder. He gave Dean a strong-armed hug and gentle kiss on the forehead. "Knotting _did_ help, you're recovery time is lengthening again. How do you feel?"

"Wrung out," Dean mumbled against his skin. "Exhausted. Stretched." With each negative, Castiel's guilt returned, amplified, and he flinched as Dean continued. "Hungry, thirsty, disgusting, achy, filthy…" With obvious difficulty, he lifted his head, and Castiel grimaced and shifted his gaze away in shame. "Hey, Cas, and…" Dean put a hand on Castiel's cheek, ran a soothing thumb over the line of bone beneath his eye, brought their gazes together, forcing Castiel to see the tender smile that lit his whole, gorgeous, freckled, tanned face up, made his green eyes shine. "… _Really fricken good_." He leaned down and kissed Castiel's startled smile. " _Awesome_. I never thought we'd get to have this together, and I was cool with that, I was, because even though it stunk the alternative was not having you at all, and _that_ was the worst thing I could imagine. But this? Holy _shit_ that was mind-blowing."

"Do you want to have a real wedding, Dean?" asked Castiel shyly. Dean blinked. "I mean, you're my husband now." Castiel freed his arm from Dean's shoulder, wet his thumb with saliva and used it to clean a smudge of drying blood from Dean's upper lip. "But it might be fun to have something like what Sam and Madison did, a big party with all our friends…"

"Sounds expensive."

"Yeah…" It was impossible to keep a trace of disappointment out of his voice.

"Bet the Roadhouse would let us use the dining room if we did it on Monday when they're closed, might even be able to convince the kitchen staff to do the food if we pay 'um holiday wages or something," Dean said pensively, and Castiel felt such a burst of affection for the man that it was all he could do not to sink his teeth into his neck again. He contented himself with burying his face in Dean's shoulder and flooding his senses with perfect winter nights.

It took three hours for Castiel's knot to go down enough for Dean to wiggle free. After sleeping the day away, neither felt tired enough to sleep, so they spent the time lying in the growing darkness, bodies entwined, discussing about all the things that neither had ever been able to bring themselves to open up about before. Castiel talked about his family, how he'd rebuilt his life after they'd abandoned him, gone through a handful of boyfriends, all of whom started out assuring him that they cared about him enough as a person to overlook his deficiencies – the word earned a scowl from Dean but no interruption – and all of whom soon grew frustrated, except for the one who instead chose to handle the problem – another scowl – by cheating on him.

Castiel had worked as a CPA in a small but successful firm, slowly growing his own clientele. That was where he'd met Michael, a fellow employee, and had been star struck from the first. At the time, Michael had seemed perfect and unreachable, though with two years hindsight and his time with Dean to show him what _true_ affection looked like, Castiel recognized now that Michael had projected that on purpose, had kept himself temptingly aloof, stringing Castiel along until he was desperate for the least attention, letting Castiel stew in his feelings for over a year before finally suggesting they go on a date. Things had gotten – well, at the time Castiel would have said _better_ , but in retrospect – worse, as Michael had with surprising ease managed to get control of Castiel's life. Castiel had let him, because he'd thought himself in love, because he'd been grateful that _anyone_ wanted him around, especially a successful, intelligent beta, always cool and collected and in control, with a tantalizing scent of pomegranate and fruit that wafted around him like perfume everywhere he went. They had no physical relationship to speak of, Michael shied away even from casual touches, and thoroughly shot Castiel down the one time he tried for a kiss, and Castiel accepted it because he knew he deserved nothing more. It all went great until he accidentally got a glimpse at Michael's text messages and learned that the man was having a physical relationship with someone else. By that time, they owned a house together, they'd opened their own firm together, every asset Castiel owned was wrapped up in Michael, in their lives together.

He'd been too upset, too shattered by the betrayal, to fight when Michael took everything. They'd been together six years. When Castiel had cried that he was going to end up on the streets, Michael had told him _that was all someone like him deserved_. Michael had constantly said things like that to him, that, with his problem, Castiel was lucky to have someone like Michael in his life. The scary part was how long Castiel believed him. Michael's words had haunted Castiel for a year as he'd sat staring out at the ocean, wondering what the point of facing each day was.

By the time Castiel was done, Dean was trembling with rage against him, growling low in his throat, impervious to Castiel's light, soothing touches.

"It's okay, Dean."

"It is in _no way_ okay," snarled Dean. "Tell me the son of a bitch's last name. When I'm done with him—"

"Dean," Castiel interrupted. Dean cut off, giving Castiel a sullen look. "First, it's okay, because this is _my_ life and it's my place to say what is okay and what isn't, _not_ yours. Second, if none of that had happened, I never would have met you. I'll have to thank him next time I see him." He smirked. "I can just imagine the look on his face if I said that to him. Especially if you're with me. You're just his type."

"Do I get to tell him how you knotted me?" Dean emphasized the question by grinding against Castiel's cock, sending a shiver of heat through Castiel, drawing a shuddering moan from both men.

"I think our pups will clue him in," replied Castiel blandly. "But if you really want, I won't stop you. You must know I can't deny you _anything_ that'll make you happy."

"That's not true, or you'd let me mash his face to a pulp."

"How did you end up homeless, Dean?" Castiel segued. The playful look on Dean's face faded in an instant, the light behind his eyes shuttered, Castiel could feel him withdrawing by degrees in a way that would have frightened him before, but no longer. No question would make Dean leave him, not now that they were bound so closely, and if Dean wasn't ready to tell him yet, they had a lifetime together for Dean to learn that it was safe to share, that Castiel would never judge him or think worse of him.

 _Unless this is it. What if this is the last time? Will Dean regret mating with me when he realizes we may never be able to have sex again? No, no he won't, I can't believe he will, he was ready to mate with me in the hallway the other night, he was ready to mate with me when we still thought we'd never get to do this, when we thought I would never have a rut again._

A wry laugh pulled Castiel from his thoughts, Dean was shaking his head and chuckling low. "Come on back, Cas, you're fine. I just haven't ever talked to anyone about it – even Sam doesn't know the details. We had an okay childhood, working class, you know? Dad was a mechanic, mom died when we were kids, we didn't have much, but we managed, until dad died when I was 16 – Sam was 12. Turned out things weren't as okay as we'd thought – dad was in a pile of debt and we had nothing. Sam always wanted to go to Stanford for some oddball reason, the lawyers were insisting I was on the hook for the money, and I had no idea what to do, so I played nice for a while I waited for the emancipation paperwork and Sammy's custody to go through and then bolted for the coast, left no forwarding address, did my damnedest to ensure we both disappeared. It's easier than you'd think. Met some good folks – Benny, for one, and some others we don't hang out with any more – but no one would hire me and I needed money _stat_ , so I did the only damn thing I've ever been any good at – workin' with cars – to get what we needed. Which is to say, I started jacking 'um, gutting 'um and selling 'um for scrap. It wasn't good money, but it got us by until Sam started school. On the plus side, he opted for Berkeley, on the downside, even at in-state rates and with his scholarship and student loans, it was still more expensive than I could afford.

"School kept Sam damn busy, so it was easy to keep what was goin' on from him. I dumped the apartment, moved to the streets to save money. Told myself it was just for a few years, just until Sam was done. Then he told me he was planning on grad school, and I knew I was fucked so I stepped up my, uh, side pursuits, to save the extra money, and everything was _great_ until I get busted. There was no keeping _that_ from Sam. He was pretty pissed, didn't talk to me for like a year. Fortunately the jury was sympathetic – I was a first time offender, since I'd never gotten caught before. Sammy testified for me, and, well, you know that face he does, it worked like a charm, I only ended up serving six months, got out when I was 26, just in time to go to Sam's graduation. My probation officer told me about Bobby, who turned out to be a friend of Benny's, and Sam got a scholarship for his library science program, and you pretty much know the rest."

"Have I ever told you how amazing you are?" murmured Castiel.

"Couple times," Dean said flippantly, even as his expression betrayed his embarrassment.

"Do you mind if I do so a few more times?" Castiel asked, mouthing a kiss over Dean's temple.

"Yeah, Cas," sighing, Dean hugged Castiel closer. "That'd be fine."

"You're amazing, Dean."

There was a long pause.

"Cas, will you mark me again? Someplace where everyone will be able to see?"

"Only if you'll do the same for me."

There was another pause.

"Okay."

When they could finally separate, Castiel got Dean sitting, had him drink a couple cups of water and eat a bowl of cereal. His symptoms were much more mild, Dean was happy for the liquid and didn't complain of any nausea from eating. That done, Castiel assessed how soiled they'd each gotten and decided his best bet was to get them in the shower instead of bother with wash clothes. It was a great idea except that Dean couldn't stand; carrying him to the bathroom proved challenging, but they managed. He grumbled the whole time, as Castiel gave him a piggy back ride, as he settled limply into the bathtub, as Castiel filled it with water and scrubbed him down, washed his hair, soaped away all the sweat and semen and slick coating both of them. He grumbled even more when Castiel told him he was behaving adorably, but Dean's soft smile spoke louder than words, as did the way he leaned against Castiel while Castiel rubbed down Dean's belly, the way Dean nuzzled at Castiel's scent when Castiel took a quick moment to wash his own hair. When they were both clean, Castiel drained the dirty water, refilled the tub with fresh, and left Dean to soak his aches in the steamy heat of the bathroom.

Hurrying out, he gathered all the dirty laundry, stripped the sheets, and started a load. The chances that Dean's heat was over were low, and Castiel's rut definitely wasn't – he'd felt himself start to grow hard in the tub and only sheer willpower and the certainty that being mashed against cold shower tiles was the _last_ thing Dean needed kept him from pinning Dean to the wall and taking him again. Even willpower wouldn't have been enough except that every time Castiel's gaze raked over Dean's muscled chest, his view included the scabbed over bite, a perfect reminder that Dean was _his_ , gratifying his possessiveness enough to forestall the inevitable. They'd knot again, they'd both need to, but it could wait.

Once the bed was made with fresh sheets, Castiel got Dean out of the tub, dried him off, held him up so he could use the bathroom again, and carried him back to the bedroom. In the short time it took to get there, Dean slumped over Castiel's shoulders, breath heavy and wet against Castiel's cheek, and he rubbed a nascent erection against Castiel's back, the smell of slick especially strong in contrast to the clean soap and Dean's scent as fresh as new-fallen snow. Dawn was pinking the room once more – God, was it Friday or Saturday? Castiel wasn't even sure any more – and though there was still more Castiel had hoped to accomplish during their respite – especially, he'd hoped to get Dean to eat an actual meal, something hot and filling – his vision was tunneling, his cock thickening. If Dean didn't stop, Castiel's resistance would crumble in moments. He set Dean down on the bed, grabbed a couple cups of water and set them on the night stand so that next time they knotted there'd be something to drink at hand, and forced himself to the laundry nook to transfer the towels to the drier. He returned with the intention of suggesting a meal only to find Dean with his feet on the floor, his chest pressed to the bed, presenting, his ass red and stretched, slick so thick a bead of it was slowly working its way down Dean's thigh.

"Knot me, Cas," Dean growled.

Castiel didn't feel himself go hard, didn't remember covering the distance between them, didn't recall positioning himself, stretching Dean's entrance; he came to his senses with his fingers digging bruisingly hard into Dean's hips, cock half-embedded in the _perfect_ ass which accommodated him easily after the hours spent stretched by Castiel's large knot. _God_ , he'd never have dreamed they'd fit together so perfectly, never have believed how much Dean could take, never have imagined how unbelievable _good_ it would feel to be joined. Holding Dean still, Castiel lost himself in the pounding rhythm, the dominance of claiming Dean again. He reveled in every grunting groan he forced from the other man, every sound Castiel didn't even try to hold back, the spectacular feeling of burying his cock in hot, slick tightness. Even as he thrust, Castiel leaned over, draped his chest over Dean's back, sucked bruises into Dean's neck until he found what he sought, and buried his teeth behind Dean's ear to mark him for all to see even as his knot finally caught and they came together.

Dean was shaking with fatigue by the time they were done, and with slow, careful movements, being gentle with Dean's abused, knotted hole, Castiel got them both into bed, pressed a cup into Dean's hand and made sure him drank a bit before they curled up together. Castiel curled around Dean's body, sucking gently at the new bite, and held him close until Dean fell into a deep sleep.

 _Vampire Castiel_.

It was all he could do not to giggle. God, he felt euphoric. He was still worried about Dean, but the danger mostly seemed passed and it was impossible not to reflect on how different things looked now from how they had, what, two days ago? As sunshine brightened their room, he marveled at how far they'd come. He'd been ready to risk losing Dean, knowing how upset Dean would be that Castiel had brought another alpha into the house, just to get Dean a knot. Then they'd spoken, and Castiel's rut had started, and within a day he'd gone from thinking he might never see Dean again to losing his virginity. They were mated. The odds that Dean wasn't pregnant had been low after the first knotting and, after three knottings during the same heat, were now virtually non-existent. He wrapped an arm around Dean, who shifted and pressed closer back against Castiel without waking, and splayed his fingers over Dean's lower belly.

 _I'm going to be a father. We're going to be fathers. We're going to raise a family, together. We get to have this._

 _Wow._

* * *

One chapter left after this. :) I'll get it posted tomorrow.

In case you're curious...the contents of this chapter were the original core of this story. All the rest was just window dressing to get to this scene. :)


	7. Chapter 7

So, just as an FYI, this chapter is basically a series of vignettes and time stamps.

* * *

They knotted seven times in four glorious days. By the time Castiel's knot faded Sunday night, Dean was so weak that he couldn't get out of bed, all the while insisting hoarsely that he didn't mind. The mixture of pride, embarrassment, guilt, pleasure, excitement, respect, and _love_ that Castiel felt that night was easily the oddest he'd ever felt. With Dean glowing at him – beaming lazy smiles, eyes alight – it was hard to worry about the bad parts. It took three days before Dean was well-rested and strong enough to stand, and they'd both lost an alarming amount of weight, but Dean's hand kept wandering to his belly, and Castiel kept finding himself wondering where in the small apartment they'd be able to fit a crib or two. Despite the hitches along the way, when all was said and done, their first sex, their mating, their unavoidable but not unwelcome decision to have pups, proved to be just like everything about their relationship had been since the day Dean had worked up the nerve to return to the Warehouse District and talk to Castiel again. It had been _easy_.

It was _not_ an easy pregnancy.

Two weeks after their shared heat and rut passed, Dean went to the doctor to confirm what they both already knew and got the positive results back that evening. Over the following weeks, every symptom of Dean's heat resurfaced in one form of another as his body produced the massive levels of hormones necessary to support the bearing pups for nine months: nausea, insomnia, headaches, mood swings, arousal, fever. It was rare for him to keep a meal down. The doctors watched his weight worriedly and, as the weeks stretched to months and the symptoms didn't pass, they declared him a high risk pregnancy and started testing treatments for the nausea.

Castiel did what he could to support Dean: prepared meals, held him when he didn't feel well, stayed up with him when he couldn't sleep, held him when he wanted to be touched, stayed away when Dean wanted to be left alone, and helped him masturbate when he was horny. Out of rut, Castiel's impotence came back same as ever, and he tried not to wander down the dark train of thought suggesting he might never be able to knot his mate again. It was frustrating at times. Objectively, Castiel knew that Dean wasn't erratic behavior wasn't because of _him_ , but Dean was angry at his body, angry because of biological factors outside of his control, weak with sickness, fed up of doctors, and he took that out on the only person who was around. He always apologized afterwards, but that didn't help when, in the evening, Dean yelled at him because he didn't want to be touched, and the next morning, Dean yelled at him because _of course_ he'd wanted to be touched and Castiel should have _known_ that Dean wasn't telling the truth.

Those were the days when Castiel called Benny or Charlie or Ash and let them deal with Dean's peevishness for a few hours while he went and took a walk to clear his head.

There was no planning a wedding while Dean's pregnancy consumed all their energy, so they decided to forestall having a party until an undefined time _after_. Castiel couldn't escape the feeling that this translated to _never_ , but he didn't mind that much. They were mated, people they met couldn't help but notice their bite scars, and more and more of those "walks to clear his head" ended at jewelry stores where Castiel diligently surveyed the brightly lit cases looking for the perfect wedding band.

As unpleasant as the days and weeks often were, especially for Dean, they passed. They weathered the first trimester and reached the second just as Sam gave birth to his and Madison's first litter – healthy twins, a boy and a girl, whom they named Henry and Deana – and the warm glow of meeting the new infants reminded Dean and Castiel of what exactly they were sacrificing so much for. With their spirits buoyed and with Dean's hormone levels finally evening out, the second trimester proved much less unpleasant, and the fun parts of planning for a family began, Dean sitting on the couch or lying on the bed while Castiel moved the furniture around, wandering the aisles of _Pups Plus_ together arguing over whether the bedding set with the elephants was cuter than the one with bulldozers.

As it turned out, they didn't need to pick.

Their first ultrasound found two fetuses, their second located a third, their third a fourth, and the doctors declared that _now_ they understood why Dean had been so sick. Litters as large as six weren't unheard of, but most omegas had twins or triplets. Had Dean been petite, the doctors would likely have suggested aborting one – they hinted at it anyway, before stern looks shut them down. Dean was over six feet and he could carry the large litter, but even at the start of the third trimester his belly dwarfed him, made him look like he was ready to pop when they still had months left. The doctors warned them they might have to induce labor early, especially as Dean's nausea returned badly and he struggled to keep enough food down.

* * *

Bobby rolled his eyes and called Dean an idjit when he came in after the heat and sheepishly admitted he was almost certainly pregnant. Despite Bobby's threats, he kept Dean in the shop, shifting him from large tasks to little things like oil changes and tire rotations. Strict orders forbade anyone from doing coolant flushes or using antifreeze while Dean was on the floor, which meant more than once Dean ended up sitting in Bobby's office twiddling his thumbs while such work was completed hastily. It was frustrating – he was pregnant, sure, and often sick, but he wasn't _breakable_ , the doctors had said he could keep working, no problem – but it was hard to stay annoyed when Bobby gave him a firm look and ordered him around. It was even harder when, a few months in, Charlie came in to the office during one of Dean's exiles and showed him cell phone video of the look on Bobby's face the moment Dean turned away. Bobby's eyes softened, he broke into a gentle smile, and the oddest version of _tender_ ever to grace the features of a man who resembled a redneck trucker played over his face. After that, Dean increasingly noticed the small signs that Bobby was acting, more than anything, like a gruff but doting grandfather, such as the _hilarious_ reaming Bobby gave Ash when, obliviously, he nearly cracked Dean's head open while lowering a car he'd been working on. Sammy might be his only biological family, but with Cas and the pups, with his friends at the shop, with Bobby, Dean thought he had a better, more _real_ family than most people did.

As the months passed and Dean's pregnancy advanced, Bobby moved him to the office, taking care of paperwork, and when even that became more than Dean could manage, Bobby sent him home to rest and focus on himself for the last two months, promising him half-pay while he was off and a job waiting for him when he'd recovered.

* * *

Considering how many years of his life Castiel had worn a suit every day, it felt weird to buy a new one – much less expensive than the ones he used to wear – and go to his first interview with an accounting firm. The prospect of getting back to his old career was simultaneously frightening and exhilarating, and he faced his fears because he needed a job that could support their family. The first interview didn't pan out, nor did the second, third, or fifth, but whenever he felt discouraged all he had to do was glance at Dean, lying on the couch or sleeping with a hand unconsciously resting over his baby bump, and he the stress and disappointment was worth it.

When Bobby heard of Castiel's difficulties, he fired the shop's accountant ("I never trusted that idjit anyway") and passed the books over to Castiel. It proved to be a great choice. Bobby had been right about the old accountant, he'd either been lazy or incompetent, and Castiel refiled their taxes for the past three years and got Bobby near half-a-million dollars back from the government. Bobby quietly switched Dean's paternity leave wages from half-pay to one for full-pay. A week later, Castiel got a call from Ellen, the owner of the Roadhouse, who'd been trying to do everything herself since she'd opened the restaurant a year ago and whose idea of "book keeping" was a spiral bound notebook swollen with worn receipts. It took Castiel a month to sort it out and get her set up with professional grade software and a Point of Sale system that did much of the work automatically, paid for by all the deductions she hadn't even known she was eligible for.

By the time Dean's due date was near, Castiel managed to accumulate a half-dozen clients, including two that had followed him from his first firm to the one he'd opened with Michael, and had somehow found him once more now that he was back in business ("somehow" being a credit to Charlie's subtle intervention). Having the resources of a large firm would have been helpful – a business manager, an HR department, a lawyer – but Castiel had opened a business once before, and he knew how, and soon he had everything set up. He was making much more than he ever had at the supermarket, and as new clients slowly trickled in, he contemplated at what point he'd be able to afford to hire a second person. With the children due any day, the last thing Castiel wanted was to have to spend all his time working.

* * *

The pups, three boys and a girl, were born only a couple weeks early without needing to be induced or requiring a Caesarean. The first month or so was a blur of sleepless nights, screaming children, and stolen meals. Neither knew much about raising children, and they were badly outnumbered. There were days in there when Castiel had honest-to-God regrets, that maybe this had all been a terrible idea, that he never should have knotted Dean. It was impossible not to feel that way when he got home from work to be confronted by a red-eyed, gaunt, exhausted Dean, who'd shove a baby at him and promptly go collapse on the bed, unconscious before his head hit the pillow. Nursing was nightmarish, only two teets for four miserable, desperate pups, and within days Dean wasn't producing enough and they had to resort to formula that Mary and John both flat-out refused to drink. Their bedroom was so crowded with cribs they could scarce move around, the dishes stacked up, they resorted to ordering take out every night because there was simply no way to spare the time to make meals. What they really needed was help, a third person, but no one was available. At least Raphael could be trusted to happily sleep through virtually anything, but that was counterbalanced by Gabriel's tendency to scream his head off, and only Dean seemed to know the trick to calm him down – which required that the child be held constantly. In the rare moments when Dean had the energy to make jokes, he'd laugh that surely they only _really_ needed three pups, but the comment was given lie every time the child finally slept and Dean got the most bemused, adorable look on his face as he cradled the small boy in his arms.

Those were the moments they both cherished most. Castiel took to snapping covert pictures on his phone to capture the way Gabriel and Dean would wear identical smiles, and Dean got his hands on a video camera and sneakily took footage of the way Castiel stared in to Mary's blue eyes and made cooing noises. After the fact, they shared the results with each other, and both conceded that as exhausted as they were, neither would change a thing.

A surprise visit from Henriksen fixe their biggest problem. He had a friend, Nancy, who'd recently taken up residence with her two pups in a tent in the Warehouse District. Like most there, her story was one of bad luck and failures by the system. When Dean and Castiel met her, they agreed whole-heartedly that she was competent, kind hearted, and that her resume of experience as a nanny was impeccable save for the incident that had stolen her livelihood – one of her charges had died while under her care. It hadn't been her fault – the child had a birth defect the doctors hadn't caught, it was their failure that resulted in the child's death, without medical intervention there was nothing anyone could have done – but apparently the kinds of people who could afford nannies weren't prepared to risk their children with someone who'd "killed" a child. Dean and Castiel _couldn't_ afford a nanny, but she was desperate and willing to negotiate, and Castiel was certain that once he could devote more of his energy to working again, he'd be able to make up the difference and pay her what she was certain to earn in spades dealing with the zoo that was the Winchester-Novak home. She accepted their offer to gratefully, so tearfully, that Castiel was ashamed. By the end of the second month, Nancy was practically part of the family, and as Dean and Castiel started looking at houses large enough to raise the children in, they both quietly agreed that, at least in the short term, they'd make sure that whatever they chose had enough rooms to accommodate Nancy and her children as well.

It wasn't easy, but they managed. In their rare time together with no other distractions, they held each other close, too tired to do more than cuddle and trade tender kisses, and agreed with obvious sincerity that they'd never been happier.

That wasn't to say there weren't problems.

* * *

"How did you get this phone number?" Castiel demanded, so angry his hands shook.

"You can't prevent me from visiting my grandchildren," his mother said with an icy semblance of calm, ignoring the question. She sounded aged – unsurprisingly, as it had been more than 15 years since they'd last spoken – but no less powerful, commanding, or confident than she always had.

"Yes I _can_ ," grated out Castiel. "You didn't want to be part of my life when I couldn't have children, you don't get to appear and make demands now that I can."

"Don't be juvenile, Castiel," she said primly in the tone of voice that used to make him feel about a foot tall and very naughty. Now it set his teeth on edge. "Obviously, everything is different now."

"What _exactly_ is different now, mom?" Castiel demanded acidly, already knowing the answer.

"You have a _family_ now," she explained.

"I can have an _erection_ now," he corrected. It wasn't even true. He'd not had one since his rut, a year ago now, and given that Dean was back on heat suppressants, the chances that he'd ever have another seemed damn low.

"Language!"

"I'm _38_ , I can use whatever _language_ want," snarled Castiel. His finger twitched towards the disconnect button.

"Why is it such a bad thing that I want to be part of the precious pups' lives?" his mother switched in seconds from authoritative to wheedling. "You remember how much you loved your grandma, don't you? Grandparents are _such_ a blessing. I can help, give you and your...give you _both_ some time to yourselves when the strain gets to great. Quadruplets must be _such_ a handful, I remember when I had Anna and Inias just a year after you and Naomi were born, I thought I'd never get a full night of sleep again!"

" _The precious pups_ ," Castiel mimicked, laughing helplessly. God, had she _always_ been like this? He couldn't believe in retrospect how long he'd let her cow and bully him into torturing himself with treatments to fix a disorder that didn't even bother him that much. "What, afraid my _husband_ and I are going to turn them gay?"

"Well, I'm prepared to overlook...certain things," she replied. "You have to understand—"

"You are _not_ _allowed_ to ' _overlook_ ' the love of my life," Castiel interrupted, his vision flashing red. "His _name_ is Dean Winchester and when we get _married_ later this year, I'm planning on taking his last name so that I _never have to think about you again._ "

"My, my, you've gotten so unreasonable as you've aged," tsked Lilith. Not his mother, never his mother, never again. "I'm surprised, you were always such an obedient child."

"I might be prepared to allow you to meet _our children_ —"

"That's more—"

" _If_ , and _only_ if, you're willing to meet certain stipulations," Castiel pressed on, ignoring her.

There was a long pause.

"What stipulations?"

"I don't know yet," he said. "I need to think about it, and talk to Dean. The first one is that _you will not call me again_. When we've made a decision, I'll call you."

There was another long pause, followed by a sigh. "Fine," she said as if conceding an argument with a petulant child. "In the meantime do let me know if I can—"

Castiel hung up on her.

Were there _any_ conditions under which he'd actually allow her back into his life? Didn't their children deserve to have a grandmother? Dean was an orphan and Castiel's father had left his mother when Castiel was a teenager and never gotten in touch again. Between them the only family that they were on speaking terms with were Sam and Madison; Castiel had many siblings but the only one he'd gotten along with, Gabriel, had died when Castiel was still in college. Their pups were innocent, they had no stake in the arguments and enmities of the older generations. For their sakes, Castiel concluded that as much as it upset him, he should find a way to mend fences with his mother and his siblings. The children deserved that he make the effort.

Dean did not agree.

"What happens if one of them is gay?" he snapped. "Or trans-gendered? Or trans-presenting? What happens if one of them develops a learning disability? Is she going to talk about 'fixing' them? Is she going to manipulate and bully them until they think they're broken no matter what anyone else tells them? I'll not let her hurt them the way she hurt you." Dean's temper dulled as he gave Castiel a loving smile that warmed him through. "And I'll not let her have a chance to hurt you again, either."

"She can't hurt me anymore," Castiel said soothingly.

"Bull," snapped Dean. "She's already hurt you again. You're so mad you're trembling."

Castiel couldn't contest the point, not when Dean was right. In their short chat, she'd pushed nearly every button he had, and still somehow left him feeling like he was at fault, that he was the one being unreasonable, that he should at least consider what she was suggesting.

"She really would make them feel that way, wouldn't she," Castiel murmured.

"Ya think?"

"Okay," Castiel took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll call her – I'll call her tomorrow."

"I have a better idea," Dean grinned. "How about _we_ call her right now?" Castiel blinked at him and then started to laugh, pulled his phone out, dialed out her number and put the speaker phone on.

"Oh, Castiel, I was _so_ hoping to hear from you again!" Lilith answered the phone upbeatly. "I knew we could work something out."

"Yeah, we can work something out," Dean drawled.

"You must be Mr. Winchester, correct?" she replied with all the graciousness and condescension that a celebrity reserved for the paparazzi who snuck into their backyard.

"Dean."

"My son says you're the love of his life," she continued.

Dean flushed and blinked at Castiel incredulously as if this was somehow a shock to him. Smiling at his modesty, Castiel gave him an innocent look and a half-shrug.

"Cas is my mate and the best thing that's ever happened to me," Dean agreed, and it was Castiel's turn to blush. "After the things he's said about you, you've got another thing comin' if you think for a _second_ I'm letting you anywhere near our family."

"Come now," said Lilith. "Everything he's told you about me is ancient history. I've had a great deal of time to rethink things, to regret the choices I made. We are adults, we must let bygones be bygones. It would be terrible to deprive those darling babies of their family because of bitterness and the divisions of the past. They're my family."

By the time she was done, Dean was staring wide eyed and a little wildly at the phone. _Is she for real_? he mouthed to Castiel exaggeratedly. Castiel could only give a wry smile and shrug helplessly.

"Lilith," Castiel said pointedly. She started to say something, but he refused to give her the chance. "When exactly did you rethink things? Was it when I graduated from school? Passed my CPA exam? When I got my first job?" Silence. "Maybe it was when I moved in with Michael? Or when we opened our own business? There was a lot of fanfare about that, the articles are still on Google as it turns out, I was surprised. Wait, no, it was probably when I lost everything and ended up on the street for a year, right?" More silence. "That has to be it, it was when I was starving and lonely and suddenly you remembered your motherly responsibilities. Of course, had that been the case, you'd think I might have heard from you sooner." Nothing. "Once you _wanted_ to talk to me, it doesn't seem like you had much trouble figuring out how to get in touch. So tell me, when _precisely_ was it that you decided you wanted to be part of _my_ life?"

By the time he finished, he was breathing hard, his hands shaking. Grinning, Dean shot him a thumbs up, then mimicked throwing a ball up in the air and swinging a bat at it, holding a hand over his eyes as if he was watching the ball go sailing far away. Castiel returned Dean's excited look sheepishly. He felt guilty, very much so, but he also felt _awesome_.

"Castiel—"

" _No_ ," Castiel interrupted. "Because of you, I almost accepted so much less than I deserved, I almost missed out on _all_ of this. I'm sure I won't be a perfect parent, but I know _exactly_ how flawed you are. I won't let you hurt them. They deserve better."

"I would _never_ hurt them!" she gasped over-dramatically. "I only ever wanted what was best for you, Castiel, like any mother would. As a parent, you must understand."

"I understand you perfectly," he said coldly. She'd never given a _damn_ what was best for him, all she'd cared about was having a perfect alpha son to show off. "Goodbye."

"Wait!"

"Mrs. Novak, if you call again, I'll have our phone company block your number," Dean said pleasantly. "Hey, you have a _great_ evening, okay?"

"But—"

The call ended to the sound of her spluttering. Castiel stared at the phone, heart racing, as what he'd just said to her sank in. "I just—" The words cut off as Dean enveloped him, holding him close, kissing him desperately.

"Yeah, yeah you did, and it was _spectacular_ , God, I love you, Cas."

"Love you too, Dean," he mumbled around Dean's increasingly urgent kisses.

They made love for the first time since Dean had given birth that night, long slow strokes of Dean's knotting toy in his slick channel, Dean's cock in Castiel's mouth, Dean's lips sucking at Castiel's slit, his fingers skillfully caressing Castiel's prostate.

It was _perfect_.

* * *

The invitation to attend his biggest client's Fourth of July party had come as a surprise. Castiel wanted to say no but he couldn't risk offending them. They'd once been a client of his, had left Novak and Cohen for one of the most prominent firms in the city, and had switched back to Castiel as soon as they learned he was back in business. He _needed_ their contract. It was singlehandedly paying Nancy's wages for the year, ensuring that she was their full time nanny, guaranteeing that they didn't need to send the children to daycare. Vapid social events had always been his least favorite part of having big-name corporate clients. It was exhausting just to think about spending the entire evening making small talk with dull people he would never see again. It wasn't that he didn't like the people he worked with – the handful of company employees with whom he liaised were excellent people – but he only knew a few, and there was no polite way to spend the entire evening only speaking with them no matter how much he might wish too. There was virtually nothing about the event that Castiel was looking forward to.

There was one _very_ big advantage to attending, though.

Dean looked _fantastic_ in a suit. He'd put on some weight since the pregnancy and, with the stress of the quadruplets, wasn't trying to lose it. Castiel loved his pudge, just like he loved everything about Dean. In a smooth pale pink button down shirt, the bump hardly showed anyway, Dean's dark pants belted just below the rise, his pinstriped jacket hanging open, his silver tie looped loosely around his neck.

"Quit starin'," Dean muttered. "Makin' me self-conscious." He patted a hand over his belly, grimacing.

Dropping to his knees, Castiel kissed the fabric over the bump, looked up to see stunning green eyes staring at him in amazement. "How about this: after the party, when we get home, I'll remind you _exactly_ how much I love you just the way you are?" The children were with Sam and Madison for the night, Nancy and her children all there to help with the six babies they had combined. Dean and Castiel had the apartment to themselves until the next evening.

"Ya know, I _might_ have been wrong when I said it was important for you to go," Dean suggested, glancing sidelong at the bed.

"No, you were right. We have to go," Castiel smirked. "Just thought I'd give you something to think about while we're there."

"If I ruin these pants with slick you're buying me a new pair," grumbled Dean.

"I bought you that pair," pointed out Castiel. Dean flushed. Somehow, with all the unconventional things about their relationship, the one that Dean was most sensitive about was that he was no longer the primary bread winner. It was ridiculous, and endearing, and Castiel tried not to intentionally needle him because he knew Dean genuinely was ashamed of what he perceived to be his inadequacy, but sometimes Castiel couldn't resist teasing him a little.

The party was every bit as tedious as expected. The company had rented a chic, modern, glass enclosed venue with a view over the ocean in the direction of the municipal fireworks display. The space was decorated in ivory and black and decorated with sparklers that the staff covertly replaced from time to time. Tuxedo-clad waiters circulated with trays of foie gras and caviar and champagne. No expense had been spared.

As required, Castiel made dilatory conversation for hours, Dean glued to his side playing the part of spouse and speaking on the rare occasions it was expected of him. They were both utterly out of his element. A particularly frustrating conversation with the firm's internal auditor, Crowley, left Castiel angry with corporations, the British, auditors, short people, men, and, well, pretty much everyone, come to think.

"How about I get us drinks?" Dean suggested, catching Castiel's tension. Castiel nodded sharply, and Dean wandered towards the open bar, a black, LED decorated monstrosity that dominated a mirrored wall at the far end of the room.

Glancing around the room, Castiel tried to assess by appearance and clothing who might be least unpleasant to force small talk with next.

"Cassie!"

The voice froze him. He couldn't bring himself to turn around, couldn't move.

"Cassie?"

His hands started to tremble, his heart rate picked up, nervousness twisted his stomach nauseatingly.

A hand came to rest firm on Castiel's shoulder, turned him around forcibly, and Castiel found himself staring into features that precisely matched his memory: dark hair cut short, eyes misty in shades of silver and gray, delicate pink lips that Castiel once would have given anything to kiss, a chiseled jaw line lightly dusted with stubble, every feature in perfect proportion to every other.

Castiel couldn't believe he'd ever thought the man beautiful. Compared to Dean, Michael looked like a doll, plastic and fake, and his scent was over-sweet and rank.

"It _is_ you!" Michael cried. His earlier calls had been loud enough that many of the surrounding party-goers were watching them curiously.

"Hello, Michael."

" 'Hello, Michael,' " he echoed incredulously. "Cassie, it's been _three years_ and that's all you've got to say? You're back in accounting now? That's great! How've you been?"

A flood of conflicting emotions had Castiel utterly swamped, but slowly anger overtook all the others. It was great, was it? Whose fault was it that Castiel had left accounting? How _dare_ Michael act like he had no idea what his actions had done to Castiel?"

"I'm doing very well," Castiel replied to Michael's ease and familiarity with icy formality, tugging his shoulder free of Michael's grip. The glare he leveled at Michael could have leveled city streets but Michael hardly seemed to notice.

"That's it? Come _on_ , talk to me, Cassie!"

"Talk to you," echoed Castiel. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

 _I_ hate _you._

"What brings you here tonight?"

"I'm the Freeley Foundations external accountant," Castiel explained succinctly.

"You are?" Michael sounded amazed, and – maybe? – horrified. " _You_ are?"

"Yes," Castiel couldn't help but smile cruelly. He had no idea why that information bothered Michael so much, but he loved that it did. "What brings you here, Michael?"

"I'm here with my boyfriend," Michael explained, trying and failing to maintain his front of casual nonchalance. "You were just talking with him, I think – Crowley?"

Castiel snorted a laugh. Oh, yeah, they were _perfect_ for each other. "Congratulations."

Michael clearly had no idea what to make of that reply, and the onlookers were continuing to stare as the conversation proved just as entertaining and laden with subtext as they'd all hoped. Nothing like rubber-necking some drama to help an evening pass, Castiel thought wryly.

"How about you, Cassie? Still single?"

"No," he smiled frigidly, turning his head at an angle he knew prominently displayed his mating scar. "As a matter of fact..." Dean approached hesitantly, holding tumbler in each hand, liquor shining like burnished bronze in the room's golden light. With an encouraging nod, Castiel gave him a smile, and Dean slipped into a more casual gait as Michael glanced over his shoulder and gave Dean a crudely appraising look over, expression blanching at what he saw. "May I introduce my mate, Dean?" _Mate_ , Michael mouthed the word in obvious amazement.

Startled, Dean tried to juggle the tumblers as Michael held out a hand to shake, finally passing them to Castiel, who took them and quirked his head to one side, unsure what was about to happen but extremely curious what it might be. Any moment now, Michael would say his name. There were any number of ways Dean might respond, and Castiel wondered idly which one would win out.

"Nice to meet ya," Dean said with his usual easy manners, clearly assuming that Michael was Castiel's friend. "Dean Winchester. And you are...?"

"Michael Cohen," said Michael, trying to assume his usual suaveness.

"Michael?" Dean echoed, stunned, giving Castiel a sidelong glance. Castiel nodded once.

 _Oh, no, my love, you didn't mishear –_ that _Michael._

"Yeah, Michael, maybe Cassie has mentioned me? We're old—"

Dean smashed his fist into Michael's annoying, perfect jaw line.

Castiel laughed in delight.

The watchers gave a collective gasp and began to titter with scandalized conversation.

"What the—?" gasped Michael, reeling.

"Shut up," snarled Dean and punched him again. Michael dropped to his knees, staring at Dean dazedly, their hands still linked. "After what you did to him? How _dare_ you pretend to be his friend? You son of a..." Dean trailed off as Castiel caught his eye and gave him an adoring smile.

"It's okay, Dean," he said dotingly, offering Dean one of the tumblers. "You've done enough." Dean took the offered drink and downed the contents with one gulp. His other hand threw Michael's aside, and Dean scrubbed his palm against his pants as if it were now filthy by association. It probably was, Castiel realized with a guilty start. Dean could certainly smell Michael on him. Castiel wished he'd thought of Dean's acute sense of smell sooner sooner and come up with some way to make the introduction that didn't require they touch. "I think everyone has gotten the idea."

"What are you _doing_?" demanded Crowley shrilly, breaking through the encircling onlookers.

"You shut up too," Dean snapped disgustedly.

Castiel supposed he _should_ feel guilty, for springing Michael on Dean like that, for springing _Dean_ on _Michael_ like that, but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything other than extremely satisfied.

"Oh, and Michael?" Castiel cooed. Michael looked up, confused, his lip swelling, a thin stream of blood leaking free from where it had split. "I'm so glad I ran into you tonight. I've been meaning to thank you. If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have met my husband, and we wouldn't have four _beautiful_ children." Castiel smiled beatifically at the amazed, confused look on Michael's face, Crowley shouted something angrily that Castiel ignored, and Castiel turned to Dean, who was beaming at him and surreptitiously rubbing his knuckles. "I think it's time to go home for the evening, Dean, what do you think?"

They watched the fireworks from the boardwalk in the Warehouse District, just the two of them.

When they got home, Castiel peeled the suit of Dean layer by layer and showed him _precisely_ how much he appreciated what Dean had done, edging Dean towards climax over and over until he begged for release, coming to the feeling of Castiel rutting, soft, against his body and splattering both their bellies with semen.

All things considered, the night went _much_ better than Castiel had anticipated. He might lose the contract, but he could almost convince himself it was worth it.

* * *

 _Dear Mr. Novak,_

 _I wanted to apologize for the events of July 4_ _th_ _. Had I known that Mr. MacLeod would bring Mr. Cohen as his 'plus one,' I'd not have permitted him to bring a guest. I have received your e-mail apology, and wanted to assure you that I do not place the blame for what happened on you, nor do I blame your husband. While our firm was still employing Cohen and Novak, CPA, as our accountants, we were very pleased with your work, but over time the quality decreased and we grew displeased. When we inquired if our accounts had been transferred to a different accountant, they informed us, quite belatedly, that you were no longer employed by the firm. Mr. Cohen suggested you had left of your own free will, and promised to sustain the high standard you'd established. That proved to be untrue. Assuming you were yet working in the field, we attempted to locate you and in so doing learned of the circumstances under which your employment was terminated. Such unorthodox practices are not to be encouraged, and besides, Mr. Cohen is not a particularly good accountant. We moved our accounts and we quietly have spread the word that the firm could not be trusted with corporate accounts. We were most pleased to hear that you were working again, and are entirely satisfied with the quality of the work you have completed for us._

 _Perhaps you have not heard Cohen and Novak, CPA, went bankrupt four months ago?_

 _I hope you, your mate and your children have a splendid summer, Mr. Novak._

 _Sincerely, Balthazar Freeley_

* * *

Castiel had just finished hiring his third employee. Dean was talking to Bobby about taking some professional development classes so that Singer Salvage could expand the services they offered and charge more. The children were thirteen months old. Mary had a gluten allergy; John still struggled to roll over, much less get on his feet and walk like Raph could; and Gabe _still_ was inclined to handle any reserve in his life by shrieking his head off – his most recent meltdown had been the result of accidentally nipping his finger while he was attempting to stuff a Mega Block in his mouth for the fourth time even though Castiel kept trying to stop him.

Basically, things were utterly normal and everything Castiel had ever dreamed of.

Their wedding went off without a hitch, a small affair at the Roadhouse attended by all their friends, Ellen casually covering the cost of the catering while refusing every attempt they made to sneak her money. Castiel resolved instead to quietly underestimate the number of hours of work he did on their books. As long as he spread it over a long enough time, she'd never know the difference.

That day, though, he was out of sorts. He couldn't seem to keep his cool. He'd nearly ripped Charlie's head off when, while helping him out with technical stuff for the business, she knocked his internet out for an hour when he was expecting an important e-mail from a potential client. He'd snapped at Nancy when she asked innocently if they had more of Mary's special food – of _course_ they did, it was in the cabinet, the same place it _always was_ and she should know that. He was over reacting. It had been all he could do not to call his client a _fucking moron_ when he finally got the long-awaited e-mail, since he was sure that the man hadn't _intentionally_ suggested that Castiel do something that was not only unethical but illegal and likely to get his license revoked, he was just too stupid to know better. His head ached, his joints too, and more than anything, he wanted Dean, he wanted just twenty four damn hours when it was only the two of them, when no one else existed, when he could hold Dean in his arms and lose himself in the wonderful smell of a winter night even as the actual weather slipped towards summer.

That evening couldn't come soon enough, and when it finally, _finally_ arrived, Castiel ignored the fliers spread over the table, all the houses they were considering buying, thanked Nancy for her help and said good night to her, made sure all four children were fast asleep, and collapsed on their bed, fully clothed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

 _Kissing Dean deeply, laying him down, spreading his legs, licking up every drop of slick, God, he tastes so good, smells so good, want him, want him so much, he's mine,_ mine _..._

It was like Dean was standing in the room, Castiel could smell him so powerfully. Without realizing what he was doing, he had a palm on his crotch, rubbing his twitching cock through the fabric of his trousers, completely lost in the moment.

 _Want to get hard again, want to fill him, feel that wonderful smooth friction of his slick easing the way as I pound into him, want to swell in his perfect body, want to knot his gorgeous ass, want to get him so full of my seed that he's leaking for a week, so full of my cock he can't walk, so drunk on the pleasure that I get to give him, me, only me, that he can't think straight. Want to hear him moan my name as he comes_ over _and_ over _and_ over _again._

Castiel moaned faintly and pressed against himself harder, pleasure flickering bright colors behind his closed eyelids.

"So, Cas, anything you want to tell me?" Dean's voice cut through the fantasy, and Castiel's eyes flew open. Dean stood in the doorway, staring hungrily at Castiel's busily stroking hand. The entire room was choked with the smell of the most perfect winter night, unspeakably right, unspeakably appealing.

Everything that had happened in the past twelve hours suddenly made sense.

"I'm having another rut," he whispered in amazement.

"Looks like my suppressants failed again," agreed Dean. "Guess it's a good thing I'm on birth control too, now..."

"We'd better see if Sam can accommodate the kids and Nancy for a few days," breathed Castiel, fumbling for his phone where he'd left it on the night stand.

Dean crossed the room, settling on hands and knees straddling Castiel. Soft lips trailed kisses along Castiel's chin, teased at his lips, Dean dodging Castiel's every attempt to deepen the kiss, teasing him, tempting him, driving him wild. "Better make it a week," Dean murmured enticingly in his ears, every word a promise.

It was going to be a _very_ good week.

* * *

Author's end note:

...and that's a wrap.

This story has been SO much fun to write. So many things here I never thought I'd write - A/B/O, MPreg, dudes all of this is way outside my norm, but I'm not sorry, and I'm really happy with the results.

FLAT OUT this is a stand alone story! I will NOT be adding to it. SO, if you still have questions, if there are things you want to know about their pasts, their futures, feel free to ask and I'll tell you - I'm even willing to write out some quick ficlets about stuff - but unless someone says something you should all assume that this is it for this 'verse.

If you haven't checked out my other stuff, I encourage you to do so, and given that - based on the number of hits and the comments I've been receiving - this fic seems to have attracted an audience I don't normally attract (I'm assuming because it's A/B/O?) - if you enjoyed this one, you might like to know I'm planning another, a Dean Winchester/Castiel/Jimmy Novak threesome A/B/O fic, based on a ficlet I posted on Tumblr (if you want to follow me on Tumblr, I talk a lot about writing and fandom on there, my username is unforth-ninawaters)

Thanks so much for reading! It's meant a ton to me to see how well this fic has been received - seriously, y'all have pulled me out of a total funk - and I so, so appreciate every comment and kudos. I'm a little behind on replying to y'all but I'll be catching up over the next few days.

And if you really want more of this verse - check out the reviews on this last chapter, because I strongly suspect at least SOMEONE will ask me for something, and I'll definitely write up the replies. (If I get enough ficlets and Q&A I might make a timestamp and append it to this story as a new chapter or as second entry in a series, but we'll see.)


	8. Chapter 8

Howdy everyone!

Only took me a month to get this all together, lol, sorry about that!

When I finished the main story, I got a handful of questions related to the fates of various folks, and a request for a ficlet! As of today, I've finally answered all those questions and written up the ficlet, so here you go!

This isn't a true chapter. Instead, the questions are in quotation marks and in bold, and my answers follow. The "chapter" ends with the ficlet request and my response to it.

Note that I did NOT edit it, like, at all. So it's, erm, raw first draft (yum?). Hopefully, it's okay - I'll edit it in a few days if I get the chance (the whole story could use a bit of polish, when I reread it not long ago I noticed a lot of little annoying things...sorry about that).

* * *

 **"** **Do they ever have more kids?"**

Not for a while! Four is a handful. But as Dean gets older and his fertility drops and the kids start kindergarten, Dean and Cas get to thinking. Nancy and her pups are truly part of the family, and now they don't really need her help, but the idea of not having her around is just weird. Dean has had a whole lot of years to forget just how sick he was during the pregnancy, and they both have gotten some years to forget how hard those first few months were and remember all the good things. Sam and Madison have recently had triplets, and damn but they are just *so damn cute* and they get to thinking...

...and Dean goes off his suppressants and birth control...

...and not long before Dean's 40th birthday they end up having another three pup litter.

* * *

 **"But what about John? Why was he not developing at the same rate as the other pups?"**

Vision problems, as it turns out. They didn't even think to get him checked out, because his issues were related to his gross and fine motor skills and they just assumed it was muscular. The doctors say that John will either need corrective lenses for his entire life, or they can give him surgery that has about a 1 in 3 chance of leaving him blind. It's a hard choice, but they end up going for the corrective lenses. By the time they start kindergarten, he's caught up with the others.

Much, much later in life, when he's an adult, they'll have that talk and he'll say he's glad they made the choice they did, which is a relief - it's so hard to have to make a decision for a little child, knowing it will affect them for the rest of their life!

* * *

 **"I wonder what became of Papa Novak."**

Ah, interesting question! So, Mr. Novak left the family when Castiel was a teenager, right? And as you say, often dad leaves because Mom is a hateful bitch. (in this case, Mom is Lilith, dad is Luci...I mean...Nick.) But no! Nick, an alpha, left after Castiel's brother Gabriel died. It just left him so shattered, Gabriel had been his favorite (yeah, yeah, parents shouldn't have favorites...) and he couldn't figure out how to get past that one terrible moment in his life. It didn't help that, by certain interpretations, the death could have been Nick's fault. It was a crime of neglect, rather than a crime of intent - he was supposed to pick Gabriel up, and he forgot, and Gabriel hitched a ride with a friend, who turned out to be drunk and totaled the car, killing both passengers while escaping with scarce a scrape. It was a long shot for Nick to blame himself, but he did. Where he went from there? Well, Castiel obviously doesn't know...and Lilith tried to find him but couldn't...even with a PI. However, the driver of the car died under mysterious circumstances several years later, and six months after that, the body of an unknown vagrant turned up on a beach off the Long Island Sound...

...it was a sad story, really. Castiel is happier not knowing.

* * *

 **"What is Michel's fate ( homeless? In prison? something else- hopefully very bad.)"**

What, that he's dating Crowley isn't bad enough? :)

That *is* pretty much the extent of it. Michael's fate is...dependency. He's really not a very good accountant - Castiel was completely blind to that fact, but at the point when he and Castiel left the firm at which they'd met, Michael was already in danger of losing his job. The only way he was going to succeed was partnered with someone far more competent than himself. From his point of view, Castiel was pretty much perfect - brilliant, hard working, talented, committed, yet totally lacking in the self-esteem necessary to realize that he was all those things, thus making him ideal for Michael to take control of his life and get what he needed. Michael's not as young as he once was, though, and when he ran their business into the ground, he burned pretty much all his bridges. He's had jobs since then but no one has been willing to put up with his crap any more. He lost all the assets he'd basically swindled from Castiel when he filed for bankruptcy, even had to sell the house.

If he were willing to work hard and really devote himself, he could certainly rebuild what he lost, but he doesn't really think that way. He's a user, so he's always looking for someone to use. That's what he *thinks* is going on with Crowley - but Michael's desperation is preventing him from seeing clearly (or maybe he's intentionally wearing blinders) - Crowley is the one using him, and slowly reducing Michael to *needing* him. When all is said and done, they'll stay together, because Crowley enjoys fucking with Michael, the moreso because Michael so obviously thinks he's so *clever* and *in charge* but he's actually totally under Crowley's thumb.

Basically...Michael sold his soul to a devil for the basic comforts of life, and he doesn't even realize it.

* * *

 **"Will Doctors find solution to Cas's problem?"**

They might have, but Castiel doesn't know about it. When he's with Dean, he doesn't feel broken. Once Dean passes child-bearing age, he goes off suppressants. His heats are much less powerful at that point, and they don't *always* trigger ruts, but the combination means that their love life gets much more regular, and also less frenzied as a result, and they're happy. Castiel know he isn't broken, he doesn't need to be fixed. He's happy with what they've got.

* * *

 ** _"_** ** _I think that Lilith would find a way to meet the children (i.e. pick them up from kindergarten) and I just wanted to give you that prompt because I know she would."_**

Dean had developed something of a love-hate relationship with Parent-Teacher night. On the one hand, it was interesting to hear what their teachers thought of his children, especially when most of what they shared was positive – except about Gabriel, little snot, and who could blame them for that? On the other hand, it was a pain in the ass and invariably took all evening. Even in pre-school, when Mary, Raphael and Gabriel had all been in the same class, and John was at a different school and thus had meetings on a different day, it had been complicated. Now that all four were in the same school, and the school had deliberately and insistently placed the four kindergarten students with different teachers, it took all evening for he and Cas to speak with all of their instructors. Mercifully, they were almost done for the school year: the last meeting with the last teacher on the last Parent-Teacher night before summer vacation.

"All in all, it's been a pleasure teaching Mary this year," said Ms. Rosen brightly. "She's a great student, I'm selfishly hoping I'll have her in my class again next year!"

"Thanks for everything," Cas smiled, and Ms. Rosen blushed, and Dean repressed his jealousy.

"By the way, I'm a little surprised – I thought I'd see their grandmother at one of these meetings, but she hasn't come all year!" Ms. Rosen continued just as cheerfully, oblivious to the horrified look washing over Cas' features, the fury turning Dean's stomach and prompting him to clench his fists so tightly they hurt.

"Excuse me?" asked Cas faintly, laying a shaking hand over Dean's in an obvious attempt to restrain him.

"Mrs. Novak!" Ms. Rosen said. "She's come to visit them during afterschool any number of times – you know I teach the afterschool program too, right? Anyway, she's been a great help, she reads to all the kids and brings candy, such a sweet old lady! Right at the beginning of the year, she wanted to take the quadruplets out for ice cream, and I was really surprised that her name wasn't on the release form. I asked Mr. Shurley," she paused to look dreamily skyward, "to call you and ask about correcting that, but I guess he never did? I must have reminded him four or five times…well, you know how he is. She's come nearly every day, though!"

Dean didn't know a fucking thing about Mr. Fucking Shurley and didn't fucking care too. All the things he'd ever do to the fucking _sweet old lady_ if he ever got his hands on her swirled around in his head and it was with the barest self-restraint that he reminded himself, _Ms. Rosen didn't know, she followed protocol, she didn't let Mrs. Novak take the children from school premises, there was another adult with them at all times, it could have been worse, fucking CHRIST it is bad enough, what if they_ like _her now? What if they want to see her? How have NONE of them mentioned this to us? None of the teachers, none of the kids, not a single mention of "gramma said this," or "Lily brought us candy" or_ anything _, she must have told them not to talk about it, and even fucking worse, they_ listened _to her. No, it couldn't have been much. God fucking damn that bitch…_

"Mr. Winchester, are you crying?" Ms. Rosen said, her concern overwrought. Dean jerked his head around to see Cas, his blue eyes swimming with tears, staring speechless and stunned. As painful as it was to witness, it was just what Dean needed to pull him out of his own funk. A single thought overrode everything – _Cas needs me_ – and he pushed everything away and wrapped his arms around his alpha.

"It's okay, Cas," he murmured.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Cas slumped against him as best he could, considering the distance between their crap chairs, and smooshed his face against Dean's shoulder, wiping of his tears on the fabric. "What if she hurt them?" he whispered.

"She didn't," Dean said as reassuringly as he could. _If she did…_

"Why didn't they tell us?"

"Mr. Shurley forgot," Ms. Rosen replied. "I'm sure he didn't mean to, he just—"

"I don't know, Cas," laying a hand on the back of Cas' head, Dean smoothed down Cas hair, massaged the back of his neck. "We can ask them now."

"Is there something wrong with their grandmother?" asked Ms. Rosen, her voice growing shrill. "Was that really their grandmother? We checked ID! We ran a background check! We'd never have let her volunteer if there was a problem. Did I…" She deflated, and continued helplessly, "did I let someone dangerous near our children?"

"It's not your fault," Dean whispered in Cas' ear, then repeated the words more loudly for Ms. Rosen's benefit. The young teacher was oblivious but she loved the students and her enthusiasm was genuine. She'd followed protocol for the school, she'd meant well, and if she hadn't been so dutiful the situation could have been so much worse.

Dean had mellowed out a _lot_ since he punched Michael in the face.

He might yet punch Lilith in the face.

Ms. Rosen apologized at least twenty times as she walked out of the building with them – they were her last visit for the night. Gathering himself with difficulty, Cas explained to her in the very basic outline suitable for a near-stranger why Lilith Novak was a problem, why they didn't want her near the kids. By the time he was done, Ms. Rosen had a determined expression on her face and fire in her eyes.

"She's never coming in here again! You know, she _did_ say a couple things…but I just thought, well, she's old-fashioned, that's how the elderly are, and it's okay as long as we understand that. I even did some afterschool lessons with the children specifically geared towards refuting the things she'd said. They made me a little uncomfortable but it was a learning opportunity. Oh, Mr. Winchester, I'm so sorry!"

"Thank you, Ms. Rosen. Next time she comes, would you call me?" asked Cas. Dean stiffened, and now it was Cas who put a soothing hand on him, cradling the small of his back, asking with a simple touch for Dean to trust him to deal with his mother. The gesture calmed him instantly. Of course, Cas could handle his mother. Maybe Cas even _needed_ to deal with his mother.

That evening, they talked about restraining orders. They talked about asking Nancy to pick up the children instead of sending them to the afterschool program. They talked about legal action and talking to the principal and physical assault. There wasn't not enough evidence for a restraining order, Nancy had another job now though she lived in the second house on the property they'd bought, there was no legal action possible, physical assault on 73 year old women was generally frowned on and would get Dean sent to prison, but talking to the principal was a good idea. Once they'd hashed that out, they headed to bed with the hardest task yet before them: speaking to the children to try to get four kindergarteners to explain why they'd kept something a secret.

* * *

"Because she told us not to tell you – it was supposed to be a _surprise_ ," was Mary's stout answer.

"Because it was fun to keep a secret," Gabriel stuck out his tongue when finally compelled to reply.

"Because no one else was telling," said Raphael, shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"Because I don't like her, she's a meanie," John stomped his little foot to emphasize the point.

Castiel's mind instantly flooded with all the terrible things his mother might have said to his legally blind little boy. Of course, John was the one she'd been cruel to, he was the only one who, at the age of five, could already be called _broken_.

"Alright," sighed Dean, running a hand through his hair.

"Are we in trouble, daddy?" asked Mary nervously, catching her lip between her teeth and doing her absolute best version of the look they _all_ knew made Dean cave every time. Not that she needed the look now, they wouldn't have been in trouble regardless of Mary's adorable pouty moue.

"Definitely not," Castiel said firmly. "None of this is your fault. However, in the future, starting _today_ , if she comes to the school again, go straight to Ms. Rosen, and make sure you tell us afterwards. John is right, I'm sorry to say it but your grandmother is _not_ a nice lady."

"I never liked her either," mumbled Raphael.

"Hey, I hate her," said Dean with a grin to the kids. John, Raphael and Mary immediately brightened up; Gabriel scowled, muttering something about candy. "Alright, get your things together, I'm taking you to school this morning." Four sets of beautiful eyes, different shades of blues, greens and hazel, turned towards Castiel in amazement. Castiel took the kids to school. Dean took them home. That was how it was every day. "Dad has something he's got to do. Come on, everyone, get a move on."

They scurried to grab their school bags in the usual morning flurry of "no that's mine!" and "where's my homework!" and "I lost my pencil!" and Dean gave Castiel a gentle look. Castiel was so pleased with how his husband was handling that. Sure, in those first few minutes, Dean had looked homicidal, but he'd calmed down quickly, and they'd been able to talk things through and discuss their options without the conversation devolving into Dean repeatedly asking if he could just deck her. Dean _had_ asked that, but Castiel was mostly sure Dean had been kidding. Afterwards, Dean had held him close in bed, combing fingers through his hair and whispering that everything was okay, and Castiel had rarely felt so loved as in that moment.

It was a wonderful reminder that even his mother could not ruin what the life they had built together.

A few minutes after Dean left, Castiel got his work things together and headed out. He and Dean had traded driving duties so that Castiel would be the one to get the kids – and would get there early – so that he might see Lilith, should she come. The day passed in fits and starts, a painful knot in Castiel's stomach growing tighter and tighter, until the idea of eating seemed nauseating.

His cell phone rang at 3:23, the caller ID naming Rebecca Rosen, and Castiel answered with trembling hands.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Rosen," he said as calmly as he could.

"She's here again," Ms. Rosen whispered frantically. "I've told her she can't come in and she's being really _weird_ about it, trying to get some of the others to agree she should be allowed. I didn't have a chance to fill them in. They're my co-workers, they trust me, but we've had a year to get to know her, everyone liked her. Even Mr. Shurley is wavering and he _always_ takes my side. What should I do, Mr. Winchester?"

"Please, _please_ , keep her away from my children, Ms. Rosen," implored Castiel, tossing things he'd need that evening haphazardly in his briefcase. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Okay," she said, quavering, and then repeated more confidently, "yeah, okay, I can do that."

When Castiel arrived at the school, it was to find a remarkable confrontation taking place in front of the main entrance. Ms. Rosen, Mr. Shurley flanking her, stood confronting Lilith. Castiel hardly spared a glance for the mother he hadn't seen in twenty years, too angry to want to look carefully at how aged she was, too impressed by Ms. Rosen, her usual cute affect completely supplanted until she resembled nothing so much as a Valkyrie with pale eyes blazing and blonde hair practically bristling, her hands on her hips making her seem large enough to block the large double doors leading inside.

"...I simply wish to see my grandchildren," implored Lilith in a sweet voice that, to Castiel's ear, saccharinely attempted to convey, 'I'm a charming little old lady, what harm could _I_ be?'

"Except that I told you, and Dean told you, that we would _never_ allow that to happen," Castiel cut in sharply. Ms. Rosen gave him a grin and a thumbs-up with a slightly wild look in her eyes; Mr. Shurley heaved a sigh that left his shoulders slumped in relief. Castiel's heart raced as his mother turned around, her blonde hair long ago aged to silver, her face more lined by no less shapely, her eyes still keen and bright. She'd changed a lot, more stooped, more sagging, more wrinkled, yet she'd hardly changed at all.

"Castiel!" Lilith's greeting _sounded_ elated, but her facial expression didn't change one bit, not a trace of actual excitement lit her features, and she made no move to approach him, waiting for him to approach her.

"This morning, Dean spoke with the principal, and you have been barred from school grounds," Castiel grated out.

"So Ms. Rosen told me," Lilith sounded unphased aside from a light air of mock disappointment. "I cannot understand why. I have been _such_ a help, everyone has told me so. You should see the cards all the children made me for Christmas!"

"While perhaps you don't understand why, when the same events were described to Mr. Henriksen, he clearly understood _perfectly_ what kind of person you are," said Castiel. His anger and fear were fading. "This won't work again. This will never work again." There was something so _pathetic_ about it her that it was hard to be intimidated by the specter she cast over his past. She could only get away with a trick like this once, there was only so much damage she could have done a few hours at a time over the past eight months. John was upset, but he clearly didn't blame _himself_ , he didn't like _her_ for the things she'd said. The genuine love and affection of everyone else around him would heal whatever injuries had been done, and Lilith would never have another chance at a ploy like this. Had she truly wished to reconcile, truly wished to be a part of their lives, there were approaches she could have taken to ingratiate herself to them. Instead, she'd chosen an approach that guaranteed that Castiel and Dean would never forgive her. She was incapable of playing it straight, incapable of behaving unselfishly. It was terrible, and alarming, and he worried about his children, but it was also very, very sad.

"If you'd come to me, shown genuine interest in rectifying the past, I would have given you a chance, you know," Castiel continued. "It's been four years, Dean and I have both had more time to accept and reflect and think _maybe_ , maybe a grandmother would be a nice thing in their lives. Congratulations. You've ruined that forever. Every teacher in the school now knows who you are, and every teacher at every other school they attend in the future will be told as well, every dance class, every music instructor, every coach, every single extra-curricular activity they go to until they're adults and can make their own choices, _everyone_ will be shown your picture and warned that you cannot be trusted around our children. Furthermore, we had never told the four of them anything bad about you. They knew they had a grandmother, and it made them sad that she wasn't in their lives, but we'd told them you lived far away, you cared about them but sadly couldn't be a part of their lives. We were saving the truth for later. Now, they will all have to understand _why_ you can't be in their lives, be given a basic understanding of how much you hurt me, how you were starting to hurt John. They'll never look at you the same way. You could have reconciled with all of us, been a part of their lives and ours, could have had something real. Instead, you chose to do this – and in so doing ruined every remaining chance you had."

" _I_ ruined?" she finally sounded angry, her eyes flashing, her face the usual near-expressionless mask. " _I'm_ not the one saying such hurtful things. _I'm_ not the one cutting ties. _You're_ the one ruining any possibility of my being with _my_ grandchildren. You and that...that... _husband_ of yours. Twisted, Castiel, you've _always_ been broken."

Even yesterday, hearing that word from her, said in that tone, would have been enough to upset him, to make him flinch. Before he met Dean, it would have been enough to make him doubt himself, to make him wonder if he _was_ in the wrong, if he was being unreasonable. Now, he just sighed.

"While I appreciate that you truly believe that somehow this is not all your own doing, you're wrong, and I hope I _never_ reach the point that your 'logic' makes sense," said Castiel calmly.

The doors of the school opened and a teacher whose name Castiel didn't know stepped out, followed by two security guards.

"Lilith, you're trespassing on school property," Castiel concluded. "If you don't leave on your own, the security guards behind you are surely here to see you out...?" He looked the question to Ms. Rosen, who nodded decisively.

"This isn't over yet, Castiel," she said threateningly.

"It is," he said. "Mr. Henriksen is gathering evidence from the teachers on your trespass here, and the security guards will write up a detailed report. From now on, every single time you show up where you haven't been invited, we'll add it to our information, and the instant you cross the line, we _will_ bring this to the authorities as a stalking case. I don't want to drag this through the courts, but we will do so. Even if you win...do you think they'll _ever_ want you to be part of their lives, after you've caused us all so much unhappiness and stress? If you claim to care about them at all, please _leave_ , think about what I've said, and don't come back unless one of us contacts you."

" _They're my grandchildren_ ," she snapped, tone shrill.

"And I'm your son, and you almost let me starve to death on the streets. Leave, Lilith."

"Mrs. Novak, if you'll come with us please? We'll be filing a police report about this incident."

Before she could come up with a counter, the security guards were bullying her from the grounds. Castiel watched her go sadly.

* * *

At the time, they wondered if it was really over. At the time, they feared she'd find some new, sneakier way of accomplishing her selfish ends. At the time, they fretted about it, warned the children, warned the school, warned their teachers, warned other parents, warned adult who was a part of their lives not to allow her near. At the time, they meticulously documented her behavior of the previous year, built a dossier against the eventuality of needing it.

She didn't come back.

Three years later, Castiel received a phone call from an unfamiliar number.

"She's dead," said a long-unheard female voice, his elder sister Anna, whom he'd had no contact with since he'd moved in with Michael. She didn't sound upset, simply resigned.

"What happened?" asked Castiel, nearly as unmoved. All he felt was relieved.

"Heart attack," Anna explained. "Apparently, women's heart attacks feel very different then men's? She was complaining about the symptoms for days but none of us recognized what she meant."

There was a long, strained silence. There seemed to be nothing more to say, but Castiel didn't want to hang up yet. Apparently Anna felt the same, for minutes passed without either of them saying anything, the only sound from the other end of the line her faint breathing.

"Castiel, I'm sorry about...everything," Anna said in a rush, breaking the light tension. "I don't know why I ever thought it mattered that you were gay, I care so little now. I only found out about everything that happened after the fact, or I'd have helped, I promise I would have, and then when I did hear again it was from mother, and she sounded so _determined_ to insinuate herself into your life when I was so sure you wouldn't want it, so I stayed away. I didn't want her to be able to use me to get to you. Maybe that was cowardly of me – I could have stood up to her, I could have gone behind her back, and instead I continued to cut you out of my life – but I'd like to change that now. I got your number from her phone. Cassie – can we start over?"

"Yes, Anna. Where do you want to begin?"

"Tell me about your family!"

"As long as you'll tell me about yours."

"It's a deal!"

* * *

And, as I said on Chapter 7 - if you have any questions about what happens to folks or specific ideas for follow up ficlets, do let me know, I'll see what I can do, but unless I get such requests I consider this story finished. :)


End file.
